


Supplication

by Sigridhr



Series: Supplication 'Verse [1]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: (mostly) off-screen torture, Darcy is losing her marbles, F/M, Magical Healing Vagina, Sexual Content, Voyeurism, abusive relationship at its worst, bastardisation of pagan religion, creeper!Loki, dysfunctional relationship at best, nefarious plans, non-con, repost, thin line between dreams and reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 18:24:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8171414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sigridhr/pseuds/Sigridhr
Summary: Someone on Midgard was praying to Loki, and so, he answered. Darcy thinks she's having weird dreams – but they're about to get a hell of a lot weirder.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Repost, upon request, originally posted 2012/07/07-22.

The first time he felt the gentle, cloying pull of her mind against the back of his own, he almost ignored it. It had been so long since any human had called out to him, that he had, for a moment, forgotten the feeling altogether.

Someone on Midgard was praying.

They were calling _him_ , and he had heard. Perhaps, he mused, putting his book down, and allowing his mind to drift in answer to the call, this was worth a look.

Once prayers had risen from Midgard like smoke from a fire: thousands upon thousands of greedy human voices calling out for attention, for blessings, for favours, for vengeance, each assured of their own self-importance, each, cloying, begging, answer _me_. I need you most, I love you best. Even then, there had been few in his name. And even among those brave enough to ask the trickster for favours, there were fewer still who did not come to sorely regret calling his name out into the night. God of Lies, they called him: but the best lies are always those that are based in truth, and any boon from Loki always revealed truths that its recipients would rather have kept hidden.

The thing about prayers, is that they had tremendous power. A prayer would only be answered if the asker truly, wholly meant it. A true prayer, was a supplication made by the soul, not the mind. There had been few true prayers to his kind in nearly a thousand years, and none to him – until now.

He found himself in an untidy studio apartment in New York, standing amid piles of dirty laundry and books which were scattered haphazardly across the limited area of floor space, staring down at a sleeping girl. Apparently the first true prayer made in his name in the last thousand years, had been made by the assistant of his brother’s latest diversion, in her sleep. Looking around the room, sneering at the unwashed plates covered in toast crumbs and the mugs with crusted coffee residue in the bottom that littered what he assumed was a desk (though it was covered with so much paper the furniture itself could not actually be seen), he briefly entertained the thought of simply killing her.

She stirred in her sleep, rolling on her side towards him and clutching the pillow tightly, making an irritating snuffling noise. Carefully, he cleared the desk chair, turned it around and sat, staring at her, killing her becoming an increasingly less viable course of action in the face of his burning curiosity.

She had called out to him. And yet, she seemed entirely unware, and, even more curiously, didn’t actually seem to want anything from him.

She clutched the pillow even more tightly, her knuckles going white with the effort, and he saw her hips shift under the covers, thighs rubbing together rhythmically. She let out a soft sound, a mewling noise that sounded faintly pleading. His eyebrows shot up in surprise and he leaned forward, almost unconsciously. He laughed, and the apartment was so small that his breath caused her hair to flutter, and she turned her face into the pillow.

It would appear that he had made a favourable impression on one of his brother’s companions.

“So that is why you have called me here,” he said aloud, his voice low as his eyes drifted along the line of her body under the sheets. He could clearly see the swell of her breast, the dip of her waist and the rise of her hips and backside, backlit by the pale yellow light of the streetlamps outside. “Simple _want_.”

That was certainly unexpected. In many ways an uncomplicated request – and certainly easy enough to fulfil, should he so choose. He could take her now, entering her even as she slept, or wake her and force her onto her knees to pleasure him as her body so desperately wanted to.

He moved forward in the chair, his knees brushing the edge of her mattress, close enough to smell the heady scent of arousal on her. “What would you have me do, mortal? Do you wish to play consort to your god?”

He watched the movement of her neck muscles as she swallowed, and the rhythmic way her thighs squeezed together. Carefully, he pulled back the blankets, revealing her body almost agonizingly slowly.

“Do you think that you could please me?”

He watched as goosebumps erupted across her skin. She was wearing an oversized t-shirt, a singularly worn and unattractive garment, and black lace panties, and her legs were tantalizingly bare. He was surprised to note that they were also hairless, perhaps in accordance with some new Midgardian fashion. He found he liked it.  
She rolled onto her stomach, pressing her hips over and over into the mattress, the muscles in her backside contracting hypnotically. He stared, unabashed. She had asked for him, all but begged for him with her soul. She was his for the taking.

But not tonight – tonight he would watch, and guide her dreams. He would see where her soul would take him. She had called out to him. There would always be time for more involved play later, and, having a votary – even an unknowing one – amongst the ranks of his brother’s friends could prove useful indeed. Prayers had power, after all, and he had answered. Whether she knew it or not, they were bound.

Loki smiled, looking almost feral in the low light of the room. Oh, yes, this would be useful indeed. And he had no doubt that it would grate at Thor’s nerves like anything to know one of his precious mortals had called out to him, especially in such a fashion.

He’d not taken much fancy to mortal women when he’d been on Midgard before. He found them too awestruck, too frightened and much too fragile to be of any use. The best couplings were those in which pleasure was given as well as received; it was hard to do either when one’s bedmate was sent by a father or husband as enticement to have him act in their favour. But dreaming, this girl positively radiated unfettered, uncomplicated need. She was not shy, she was not making political machinations. For reasons that defied his understanding, she simply wanted him, despite her associations with his brother.

He found himself curiously flattered.

“Or, perhaps, that I would please you?” he said, still watching the way her body moved, dropping her blankets to the floor and ghosting his fingers over the skin of her back, pulling her t-shirt up. “That I would kiss your breasts, and test their fullness with my hands. That I would relish the feeling of them pressed tight against my body as I kissed you?” He was suddenly aware of the intensity of his own arousal, which strained against his breeches. “Would you have me lavish you with kisses? Have me kiss your wet cunt?” His own voice was low and gravelly, and his legs fell open seemingly of their own accord as he sank down low in the chair.

The girl let out a low, but unmistakable moan, and he could see her back rise and fall sharply as she panted, her hips still pressing hard into the mattress.

“Yes,” he said, almost a hiss. His hand stroked his own erection through his breeches, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. “Yes, I would kiss your cunt, and press my fingers inside you – so tight.” He was undoing the laces and reaching inside his trousers now, grasping his already straining erection. “Is that what you would have me do?”

His hand moved in time with her hips. She rocked into the bed, her breath coming in hard pants now as her hands clenched and unclenched on her pillow.

“I would lick your clit, bringing you right to the edge until you begged for it, until you screamed my name, until my name was the only word that could fall from your lips.”

“Loki,” she moaned in her sleep, as her hand reached down almost of its own accord sliding across the sheets towards him and gripping the edge of the mattress, right between his spread knees.

“Yes,” he breathed back, his hips rocking upwards in the chair as his hand moved. “And then, and only then, would I enter you. I would ride you hard, and write myself upon your soul because _you are mine_.” The words came out as a near snarl, and she made a high sound as her body shuddered and curled in on itself.

Two more strokes and he felt his semen spill over his hand as he sank, boneless, back into the chair and watched as she rolled again onto her side curling around the pillow as if it were a person. His come glistened on his fingers in the pale light, and gently he touched them to her lips. She licked them almost reflexively, and he swallowed, hard, past the sudden lump in his throat. _Mine_.

She murmured something that sounded like his name, as if in confirmation, and he smiled. He left as silently as he came – leaving the chair facing the bed and whisking her panties away with him as he went.

Darcy started awake, her heart pounding, in an empty apartment. “What the _fuck_?”

...

She was practically drooling in her coffee she was so tired. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been sleeping _well_ – just that she’d been sleeping creepily. If you considered triple-x dreams about her boss’ boyfriends’ evil brother ‘creepy’, which she did. She genuinely couldn’t understand it: she hadn’t even found him that attractive when she’d seen the pictures in his file at SHIELD. Sure, he was striking, but it was hard to find someone good looking whilst reading about the number of murders they’d singlehandedly committed. Apparently, this was not a problem her subconscious had.

They’d started out reasonably tame, in comparison, about a month ago. Sort of shadowy, phantom touches – sensation mostly. At first she’d had no idea who was starring in her dreams, and she’d been happy to go along for the ride. Then they started getting dirtier and dirtier – and, had they been _literally anyone but Loki_ , she would have said better and better. Because, god, did she ever wake up feeling well and truly fucked in the mornings. Until she remembered that it was at the hands of _Thor’s evil brother_ , and, though it wasn’t as if she was deliberately _dreaming_ about him, she still felt cheap, like she was doing something horribly wrong. It was getting harder and harder to look Thor in the eye.

“Are you OK?” Jane asked, snapping her out of her reverie. “You’ve been staring at that coffee for nearly five minutes.”

“I’m trying to make it taste like it isn’t instant coffee with the power of my mind,” said Darcy, though she sounded a bit distracted. She smiled wryly. “I haven’t been sleeping well.”

“The coffee won’t help with that. It’s a vicious cycle. Trust me, I know,” said Jane, grinning. “Anyway, when you’ve finished transmuting it into something drinkable, we’ve got particle data to transcribe.”

“You say that like you think I don’t know how boring it is,” Darcy said, but she grabbed her coffee and followed Jane into the lab to start the workday anyway.

“I think I’m on to something,” Jane said, as she pulled on her safety goggles and began to prepare her equipment to take readings. “Based on the readings we got from SHIELD on the Asgard Bifröst during the showdown with Loki –“ Darcy literally jumped at the mention of his name, and hoped Jane wouldn’t notice “—it seems like what it does is simply latch on to pre-existing pathways of energy. So, all we’d need to do is find one of these low-energy pathways through space, and build up enough energy to throw ourselves on to it.”

“That sounds dangerous,” Darcy replied.

“Well,” said Jane, “there’s still a lot of things to consider. I can’t figure out how the Bifröst protects travellers, as, obviously travelling through open space should be fatal...”

Darcy was struck by the sudden, tremendously odd sensation of something foreign in her mind. It was like a cold hand had reached out, and literally brushed her brain. She swallowed, feeling suddenly nauseous, and like she was being watched. She looked around, but there was no one, save Jane. Nevertheless, the feeling wouldn’t go away.

“Uh, I’m not feeling well,” she said, and stood, grabbing the side of the table as she was hit by a wave of dizziness.

“You’re really pale,” Jane said, sounding concerned. “Should I drive you home?”

“I’m just gonna... bathroom,” Darcy managed to say, before stumbling somewhat drunkenly down the hallway. She collapsed in the first stall, leaning over the toilet, torn between the desire to just throw up and get it over with and the desire to keep it down.

She could feel the cold presence of _another_ in the back of her mind, and she was overwhelmed with the odd sensation that it was laughing. She felt something like an exhale ghost over the shell of her ear, and she jerked away from it, crouching up against the far wall of the stall.

“Hello?” she said to the empty room. “Whoever this is, it isn’t funny.”

She definitely heard a low, masculine chuckled reverberate through the room at that. “And this is the _girl’s_ bathroom,” she added. “Get your own.”

Slowly, and as quietly as she could, she crawled out of the stall and glanced around the room. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she caught a flash of green and a humanoid shape in the mirror, and she shrieked reflexively. But when she looked around again, there was definitely no one there.

“Stop it,” she said aloud, to no one.

“Very well,” said a voice. She couldn’t place where it was coming from – it seemed to echo within her mind, as if it hadn’t been spoken aloud at all. But it was a man’s voice, and certainly not hers. It was low, smooth, and at this moment, utterly terrifying, but she recognized it nonetheless. It was the same voice that Loki had in her dreams. “Until next time, supplicant mine.”

She crawled back into the stall, locked the door and burst into tears.

...

She was being watched. She felt it constantly, no matter what she was doing, like an incessant spectral presence in her life, or an itch under her skin that she couldn't get rid of. It grated at her nerves.

After she'd finally gathered the nerve to pick herself up off the floor of the bathroom, she'd stumbled back into the lab and told Jane she was going home. Jane had taken one look at her and insisted on driving her back to her apartment, ("No sane person would let you take the bus looking like that," she'd said. "You can barely stand.")

If she were totally honest with herself, she was glad of the company. She spent the drive back staring nervously out the windows, trying to shake off the horrible echo of the feeling of having someone else in her head. She kept jumping at every flash of green out of the corner of her eye, wondering if and when she'd gone completely and utterly insane. Jane had gone between staring at the road, and watching her anxiously.

Strange dreams, even if they were sex dreams, were one thing. Hearing voices and seeing things that weren't there were another. Not for the first time in her life, Darcy felt completely, hopelessly out of her depth. If it really was Loki, then it was very possible that her life was in danger. He'd already launched full-scale attacks against the Avengers, and though she hadn't been present, the news reports were enough to assure her that he had done tremendous damage. And if it were him... then why her Because of her relationship with Jane? With Thor?

The darkest parts of her mind found it very hard to imagine an outcome to this scenario where she game out alive.

"Are you sure you OK?" Jane asked as Darcy let herself into her apartment. "You don't need to see a doctor?"

The thought of explaining all this to a doctor seemed a little to insane to countenance. "It's fine, really," Darcy insisted. "I'm sorry to have made such a fuss. It's just a stomach bug, I think. I'll be in tomorrow."

Jane frowned. "Take tomorrow off too, if you need it. I'll be able to manage a couple days without you, and you should look after yourself."

Darcy managed a smile, dropping her keys in the bowl by the door and taking off her shoes. Jane hovered in the doorway. "Call me if it gets worse," she said. "Please. I don't like the thought of you all alone and ill."

"Yes, _mother_ ," Darcy said, but she grabbed Jane's shoulder affectionately as gave it a light squeeze. "Thanks, Jane. I mean it. And I'll be fine."

Jane smiled back. "You look a bit better now," she said. "Drink lots of fluids," she called over her shoulder as she turned to leave.

"See you tomorrow," Darcy said, shutting the door and leaning up against it before sliding down it to the floor and dropping her head to rest on her knees.

It was much worse now that she was alone, and she almost wished she'd forced herself to stay at the lab. She looked around her tiny, one-bedroom apartment, and, feeling a bit foolish, checked in the closet, under the bed and behind the shower curtain to be sure she was completely alone before locking the door and bolting the windows. She turned on all the lights, and streamed a terribly cheesy romantic comedy on her laptop with the volume turned up, though she took her taser out and lay it on the bed beside her.

...

Loki, undoubtedly contrary to the expectations of many of Earth's self-styled 'mightiest heroes', had an apartment. It was reasonably-sized, overpriced, and tasteful, as far as he was concerned.  
He sat comfortably in an armchair, with a book in one hand and a glass of wine in the other – though it paled in comparison with Asgardian mead, as far as he was concerned – and he was, for the moment, as content as could be managed on this wasteland of a realm.

He allowed his eyes to drift shut, to check on his latest mortal votary. He'd enjoyed the brush of his mind against hers – the terror she'd felt at his presence was reassuring; she knew her place at least. But it was abundantly clear that she had not been aware of who he was, or why he had come to her. That was nearly as, if not more than, fascinating than the fact that she had called out to him at all – but to have done it _unaware_ – it was, as far as he knew, a thing unheard of. It suggested caution, as there were few things more dangerous than blindly stumbling into a situation unheard of.

Still, everything about the inexplicable arrangement was fascinating. Her desire called to him, cloying and honest as it was. He was not so proud as to be unable to admit, if only to himself, that it was nice to be wanted. And she was not entirely displeasing. A touch simple, to be sure, but attractive enough, and spirited.

He watched her as she sat on the bed, periodically looking up from the film she'd been watching – whatever it was it seemed to involve a lot of women eating ice cream together, and it looked appalling – to glance nervously around the room. She was aware enough to know he was there, apparently, but not enough to know where he was. That suited him nicely.

He browsed idly through her books, a mixture of modern literature and classical – all in English – before reaching over and pulling the plug out of her laptop. Unfortunately, it didn't make the film stop, but Darcy visibly jumped, and snatched up what appeared to be a weapon from the bed and held it out in front of her.

"OK, you creeper," she said. "I know you're here."

She was brave – he'd give her that.

"Come now," he said, brushing a hand gently across her cheek. "That's no way to treat a guest." 

"You're _not_ a guest," she said emphatically. "And you're most definitely not welcome."

"On the contrary," he replied. "You've made me very welcome."

He saw her swallow at that, and the weapon in her hands trembled. He smirked.

"Did you think I would not hear you calling?" he asked softly, as he circled around behind her and reached out to brush as strand of hair away from her face. She jerked away from him and whirled around, pointing the weapon at the empty air to his left. He chucked, and she readjusted her aim to point towards him. _Clever mortal_.

"Get away from me, you creep," she said.

"Ah, but that's not what you really want," he said. "What your heart calls out in the dead of night when you think no one can hear." He plucked the weapon out of her hands and threw it across the room. She let out a shriek and scuttled back, crab-like, towards the headboard.

"You called _me_ ," he said, and he allowed himself to become visible before her, spreading his arms wide in a dramatic gesture. "Here I am!" He grinned. If she hadn't been so utterly terrified she'd've thought he looked ridiculous, standing in full Asgardian armour in her messy apartment with his arms thrown wide as if waiting for applause. The horns of his helmet grazed the ceiling.

"Loki," she said, a mixture of fear and what he hoped was awe in her voice. "So it is you."

"Indeed," he said. "It is me."

"What do you want with me?" He saw her eyes dart between him and the weapon where it lay on the floor. He stepped to the side, placing himself between her and the weapon. There was no need for undue drama, after all.

"You have not been listening," he said, chiding. " _You_ have called _me_. The question that should be asked is what would you want of _me_?"

She frowned. "I don't understand. I didn't call you."

"Oh, but you did," he stepped forwards towards the bed, and she shrank back as far as she could. "You called out to me in prayer, while you dreamed of touching my skin, of showering me with kisses, of getting down on your knees and –"

"Stop," she snapped. He could see the bright red flush of her cheeks, and she was studiously avoiding eye-contact. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said again. "But I don't believe in gods, and I most certainly don't pray."

He made an impatient gesture of dismissal with his right hand. "It does not require belief to pray," he said.

"I'm pretty sure the church would disagree with you on that one," she said flatly.

He scowled. "The _church_ is an organization of mortals run for mortals. They understand as little as any of your species does." He sat down on the bed, brushing the sheets with a look of distaste as he did so. "A true prayer requires only conviction and desire, not faith."

"I don't have either of those," Darcy said, eyeing him nervously.

"I don't think that's quite true," he replied in a voice that was close to a purr, and she was furious with herself as her heart rate sped even faster at the sound of it. He smirked.

"Come now, my little supplicant," he said. "Why all this fuss? It is not many who have their prayers answered by the gods. I am giving you what you truly desire." His voice took on a hard edge to it as he said, "be grateful."

She swallowed thickly, and stared at him as confidently as she could. "I think you're mistaken," she said. "I would like you to leave."

To her great surprise he threw his head back and laughed at that. "Oh, but you are unusual," he said when his chuckles had died down. "I will leave when it suits me," he added. "When I grow weary of you – but I suspect that may not be for a while yet."

She grimaced. "Lucky me."

"Indeed," he replied, with no trace of irony.

"I won't help you," she said. "With fighting Thor or taking over the world or whatever it is you're planning."

His eyes narrowed. "It would be wise," he said, his voice deceptively calm, "if you did not mention that name in my presence."

She nodded, looking very small, pale and frightened.

"And I have no idea where you came upon the idea that I would require your _help_ in 'whatever it is I am doing'." She could positively feel the sarcastic air quotes in the way he uttered 'whatever it is I am doing'. "No, I don't expect you to be of much use at all, at least not in my plans, such as they are. Thor may be a dullard, but he is not so simple as to be damaged by the likes of _you_."

"Thanks," Darcy muttered, and she saw his mouth turn upwards at the corners in amusement.

"If not that, then, what are you going to do with me?" she asked hesitantly, after a moment had passed.

He raised his eyebrows, and the corner of his mouth twitched as if he were suppressing a smile. "Nothing you do not wish," he said.

"And if I wish you to do nothing?"

The quirk at the corner of his mouth flattened. "I am capable of taking what I desire."

She glanced again at the taser, and made a break for it, throwing herself off the bed clumsily and stumbling towards where it lay before he grabbed her arm and used her momentum to spin her around and pin her to the wall. He loomed over her, pinning her arms at her sides and nearly blocking out the light from the ceiling lamp. She struggled as best she could, but his grip was like solid metal and he held her relentlessly.

"That," he said, "was not so clever. You forget, mortal, that I am a god."

"Told you," she said, still struggling despite the evident futility of the act, "I don't believe in gods."

He made an angry hissing noise, a bit like a cat and glared down at her. "Do not try my patience, mortal. You will find me unforgiving when crossed."

"Why are you here?" she demanded. "I don't care what you think, I don't _want you_."

"Do you not?" he said, dangerously, and he reached up with one hand to grip the side of her head firmly, fingers digging into her skin so hard that it was painful.

She felt the brush of his mind against hers again, and she struggled in his grip even harder. "Get out," she said, almost screaming, as she tried to kick him. He seemed to take no notice.

Suddenly, unbidden, memories of her dreams floated to the surface of her mind, replaying themselves before her eyes like a horribly invasive porn film. She felt them vividly – felt how intensely they'd made her feel, remembered the fantasy feeling of his hands upon her skin, how she'd wrapped herself around him in her mind to pull him close as if they could become one person, the way he'd written symphonies with his fingers on the sweat-soaked skin of her back and thighs, the feeling of his mouth against her skin, his teeth at her collarbone...

"Do you not?" he said again, and she heard his voice ring in her head, as if it were surrounding her, as if she were utterly drowning in him. "Is this not what you want? Is this not what you think about at night? What you call out to me in your sleep? Did you think I would not hear?"

The dreams played on, and she felt, eerily realistic, the feeling of him inside her, of her mouth upon him, his breath ghosting over her ears, of her voice murmuring his name over and over again until she was screaming it, of his nails digging into the soft skin of her hips, of her name on his lips –

"Darcy," he said, echoing his dream self, her name like honey on his lips. "Darcy, is this not simpler? Is this not conviction and desire in its most basic form? How could I resist such a call?"

"Stop," she said, and somewhat to her surprise, he did. He released her arms and took a step back, and she felt him withdraw from her mind, leaving behind a strange hollowness. She leant against the wall, her legs shaking too much to support her on their own. He was staring at her, strangely passive, his expression guarded.

"Interesting," he said at last.

"I'm so glad to hear it," she spat back.

He glanced around her room, before fixing his gaze back on her, strangely intense. "You will call me again," he said. "Perhaps when you do I will find you in a more amiable mood."

"Don't count on it," she said, but he was already gone.

...

Darcy heard nothing from Loki for over a week. That hardly stopped her from peering around every corner as if he might jump out at her, nor leaving lights on as she went to sleep at night. It was ridiculous, and it was taking a visible toll on her, but she couldn’t help being frightened. She’d seen nothing to indicate that Loki was unprepared to simply swoop in and do what he wanted with her, if that’s what he felt like, and she wasn’t sure at all about the limits of his powers.

She spent her spare time in the library, researching Loki and Norse paganism in the hopes that she might find some way to ward him off. Instead she came to the conclusion that the sagas painted him as an absolute dick (although she could believe that easily enough), and that if a god took a fancy to you, you were probably screwed.

It wasn’t tremendously reassuring.

The dreams had stopped for a time as well, and, although she was mostly relieved, she felt guilty at the small part of her that missed them. She wasn’t sure how to process the idea that Loki might somehow be responsible for them – it felt utterly, and completely wrong to have enjoyed them if that were the case. But that didn’t change the fact that physically, they were phenomenal.

Even thinking about them made her feel ill.

It seemed wrong to her to enjoy something she cognitively despised.

But Loki had said, more than once, that _she_ had summoned _him_ – making her far more complicit in all of this than she wanted to be. Then again, perhaps he was lying. By all accounts, it was hardly a new concept to him.

But it was, as she soon found out, nothing more than a relative calm before the storm.

Almost as soon as she went to bed, she knew something was different this time. She felt his presence, like an oppressive shadow had fallen across her room. As slowly, and with as much dignity as someone wearing a worn CNM sweater and cat pyjama bottoms could manage, she sat up on the bed, tucking her legs underneath her and resting her weight on the balls of her feet so that she could move quickly if she needed to.

“I know you’re there,” she said aloud. “What do you want this time?”

Loki emerged out of the shadows, seeming to materialise right out of the wall itself. He was without his armour this time, wearing only a long, dark leather garment with a high collar and long sleeves, and boots. He rested casually against the edge of her desk, leaning on his hip as if he’d been invited.

“An excellent question,” he said. “But this is your dance, my dear. Lead on.” 

“Leave,” she said, as firmly as she could.

“Oh, I think not. You’re a very conflicted creature,” he said. “I find it terribly interesting.” He crossed over to the bed in two quick strides, and she jumped in surprise. He chuckled at that, and she tried hard to hide a scowl.

“You would give yourself to me, you call me with your soul and I come,” he said, his voice soft and almost hypnotic in the still air of her apartment. He brushed a hand with surprising gentleness along her temple, pushing her hair back from her face. She felt suddenly heavy, like the air was thick with expectation, and the lights seemed to dim to a warm gold, like firelight. “You have reached for me, and I have answered, and yet you maintain this pretence of refusal.”

He sat on the bed beside her, still holding her face gently in his hand, his palm warm and soft against her cheek. She swallowed, and could feel the muscles of her neck brush his wrist, and her skin tingled and almost burned at the contact. She saw his eyes slowly flick down to her mouth and then back up again to meet hers.

Oh, this was bad. This was really, tremendously _not good at all_. She could feel her body responding to his touch, like every nerve in her had pricked up at his presence and every square inch of her skin had become magnetised to point towards him. And it was _wrong_. He had _killed_ people. He might kill her.

“There is no shame in what you desire,” he said, in that same cloying, gentle voice, and she had no doubt in her mind that he was doing something to calm her. She also had no doubt that it was working, and that frightened her more than anything. “You should be honoured. There are few of your kind who have been given the privilege of playing consort to the gods.”

He ran his thumb over her cheekbone softly. “Your world is so tremendously ephemeral,” he said contemplatively. “You live your lives in constant fear of death, in a race against time that you cannot hope to win. And yet even I, who walked among your ancestors in a time almost forgotten by this realm, who has seen the bravest and most execrable your kind has to offer, can still find some _fascination_...”

He grasped her chin, then, pulling her face forward and meeting her lips with his own. Even still, he was surprisingly gentle, and though the hand that gripped her chin was firm, it did not press hard enough to hurt. She felt her eyes drift closed as his mouth moved against hers, his lips soft and warm and his tongue flicking teasingly at her lower lip.

Everything about this was wrong.

He pulled back, still holding her chin between his forefinger and thumb. “It is only a dream,” he said. “There are no consequences here. Enjoy yourself. You may find me unexpectedly generous.”

“This is a dream?” she said, somewhat dazedly.

“It is _your_ dream,” he replied. “And I intend that it should be memorable. Perhaps even more enjoyable than the last time I had the pleasure of visiting you.”

She felt herself blush at that, and he grinned widely. “Come now,” he said. “Now is not the time for modesty.”

“This is my dream,” she said again, and he let out a small exasperated sigh. “And I called you here?”

He flopped down onto his back, sprawling out on her pillows with his legs hanging over the side and onto the floor. “You are _dreadfully_ slow, even for a mortal, sometimes. I really do wonder why I’ve been drawn to you at all.”

“You can’t call me stupid in my dreams,” she said. “It’s rude.”

He lifted his head up off the pillows and raised an eyebrow at her. “I have been beyond kind,” he said wryly. “Believe me.”

She wiped her hands nervously on her pyjama bottoms. “This is _just_ a dream, though?” she asked. “No consequences?”

His eyes took on a decidedly playful glint as he drew his arms up to his side to lift himself up and rest on his elbows. “No consequences,” he said.

 _No consequences_. Oh, good lord she had gone completely off the deep end. But if this were a dream... She couldn’t explain it, she’d never simply _wanted_ something so badly in her life. Consciously she knew something was probably wrong with this set-up, but she felt hazy, in a fog- filled world of desire and sensation and he was so _close_ and so _warm_ and she _wanted_. It was like something about him, something within him, was calling to her. Something incorporeal was reaching out to her, and pulling her in until she was lost.

“Well,” she said, as decisively as she could manage. “Then, if it’s my dream, I suppose you ought to do as I say.”

He blinked at her, looking surprised and then he threw back his head and laughed, full and loud. “Some fascination, indeed,” he said to himself when his laughter had died down. “Very well, my little supplicant,” he said with a smile. “What would you ask of me?”

She swallowed again despite her suddenly dry throat. He sat back, patiently, watching and waiting.

“I want you to touch me,” she said, at last, irritated with the way her voice wavered slightly as she spoke.

The corners of his lips turned up as he reached out and picked up one of her hands from where it lay on the bedspread, cradling it in his own and running his thumb slowly over the inside of her wrist.

She looked down at her hand within his larger one, watching the delicate way his long, pale fingers moved in aimless patterns over her skin, leaving tingles of sensation in their wake. She could feel her heartbeat hammering in her chest.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” she said.

“Oh?” he asked, looking deceptively innocent. “You asked me to touch you, did you not? I am doing so.”

“Kiss me,” she said.

“As you wish,” he replied mirthfully, leaning forward to place a gentle kiss to her cheek, his breath warm against her skin.

“Stop being so _difficult_ ,” she snapped, and he laughed. “You cannot fault me for a lack of precision in your instructions,” he said, and then his gaze sharpened and she actually saw his pupils dilate until she could barely see the green of his eyes. His voice took on a much deeper tone, “you will have to be very explicit in what you want.”

Reacting on what seemed like instinct she spun her hand around in his grip, grabbing his wrist and pulling him forwards into a kiss that was anything but gentle. Her other hand reached up and twined into his hair, letting it slide through her fingers as she grabbed hold of it and deepened the kiss. His mouth parted as he let out a surprised, pleasured humm noise that vibrated deep inside her and made her toes curl. He tasted of mead, warm honey and a faint tinge of electricity, like the smell in the air just before it rained. He pulled her up and forwards in a single, well-coordinated movement that ended with her sitting in his lap, his hands dancing across the smooth skin of her back.

She broke the kiss, panting for breath, resting her forehead against his. “Apparently you were unaware,” she said, with as much composure as she could summon (which was not much), “but that is how you kiss someone when they ask you.”

“That rather depends on how they ask,” he replied cheekily. He pinched her threadbare sweatshirt between his forefinger and thumb, leaning back to take a look at it. “Once I’ve removed it, I’m burning this hideous _garment_ ,” he said with a sniff.

“Don’t you dare,” she replied, wrapping her arms around herself as if to protect it. “It’s the comfiest thing I own.”

“It’s horrendous. I think it is the exact same shade of grey as the porridge mother used to pack for me when I went travelling as a child. I’d not thought I would find anything more vile than that was, but I suspect this garment could provide sufficient challenge.”

“Says the dude all in leather,” shot back Darcy. “You look like a goth too poor to afford decent accessories.”

He shot her a sharp glare. “Watch your tongue.”

“Don’t fuck with my sweater,” she replied.

He held her gaze for a long, level moment. “What about these?” he asked, finally, plucking at her pyjama bottoms which were covered in cats in various colours with Cheshire grins. “May I fuck with them?” The way he said the word ‘fuck’ made it sound absolutely sinful – and, given who she was prospectively going to fuck, it probably was.

He pulled slowly on the tie to her PJ bottoms, loosening the knot. Almost reflexively she reached out and grabbed his wrist. He stopped, sitting eerily still and looking at her with an inscrutable expression. She swallowed. “You first,” she said.

She thought she saw a flicker of surprise cross his face, but he gently pushed her aside and stood, his expression still enigmatic. With meticulous and well-practiced movements he began to remove his clothing – first taking the gauntlets off his arms and laying them aside, then his jerkin, overcoat and tunic until he stood, shirtless and looking oddly exposed in her room. He seemed smaller without all that leather on – and she knew it was a mistake to think him vulnerable, but he looked it.  
He removed his boots far too gracefully for someone who had to balance on one foot to do so.

Her brain had a meltdown as she realised what was next. _Ohgodohgod Loki is naked in my bedroom_ , she thought frantically. She found herself caught between the urge to blush and look away and the urge to stare transfixed just to remind herself that this _was actually happening_.

"Right," she muttered. "My dream. No consequences." He looked tremendously amused.

He sat back down on her bed, moving with an almost feline grace, and she could see each of the muscles on his back move as he did so.

"I believe you were issuing instructions," he prompted when she did nothing but sit silently and stare.

This was a dream, she reminded herself. It was quite possibly the only utterly insane lucid sex dream she would ever have. Loki was surprisingly not unattractive. If she was going to do this, she concluded to herself, she was going to do it _right_.

She pulled her sweater over her head and let it drop by the side of the bed. Loki's gaze followed it, looking disdainful and she frowned. "I'm not sure what the rules of this dream are," she said, "but if I wake up and that sweater is ruined I will _hunt you down_."

"That would be remarkably ambitious of you," he replied flippantly, but she could see he was assessing her – his gaze travelled along the line of her neck and then downwards to her bra. She wished, suddenly, that she'd worn a nicer one. He reached out and curled one, long finger under the strap, pulling at it gently.

"A curious contraption," he said, and she snorted before she could think better of it.

He raised an eyebrow but didn't comment, instead trailing his finger down the strap of the bra and along the top of the cup and then back up, brushing his thumb over the swell of her breast as he did so. She could feel her breathing speed up under his hand.

She closed the distance and kissed him again, brushing her thumb over his cheekbone and her fingers along the shell of his ear as his hand kept running up and down the line of her bra. When they broke apart she trailed butterfly kisses down his neck, licking at the dip between his collarbones and scraping her teeth along his clavicle. She felt his hand come to her waist and grip tightly, and she smiled.

He pulled her into his lap again, so that she was straddling him, and she could feel the warmth of his body through her PJ bottoms, and the hard line of his penis as it pressed into her thigh. Watching his face, she slowly moved her hips to grind down on it. His eyes fluttered closed, and the hand at her hip clenched hard enough that she thought there might be bruises.

She shifted her hips again, moving so the head of his penis rubbed her clit as she set a slow, grinding rhythm against him, as she brought one hand up to rest on his cheek, her open mouth just inches from his own. Her hips began to move faster, and her forehead dropped to rest upon his, her eyes closed and their hot breath mingling in the air between them, warm and musky against her skin.

His hips began to snap upwards, almost of their own accord, and her fingers clenched into his shoulder where she held on for support – her nails digging into his skin. Suddenly, he grabbed her waist with both hands and pulled her up, his eyes wide and chest heaving.

"I have no desire to see things come to a precipitate end," he said, a bit breathlessly. "Certainly not with your clothes still on."

She blinked, her skin prickling and the blood pounding in her head. Her fingers shook slightly where the still rested on his shoulder.

He pulled the straps of her bra off her shoulders, before frowning slightly as he reached around the back to remove it.

“It’s a bit tricky, I can –“ she started to say, but she felt the clasp release and he pulled the bra off and tossed it aside.

“Really,” he said, chidingly, “I am over a millennia old. I guarantee you there is no Midgardian invention that is beyond my capability to fathom.”

“Yeah, yeah, smartypants,” she muttered, as she lifted her hips to allow him to pull her PJs and undies down and off.

“We can’t all be simpletons,” he quipped, parting her legs and rubbing his thumb in soothing circles on her inner thigh. Then her grinned, wide and charmingly and he suddenly seemed like an entirely different person to her. Her heart fluttered in her chest and she desperately willed it to stop. But he chose that particular moment to bed down and lick a long, teasing and deliciously wet line along her cunt, and her heart fluttered even faster. She fell back to rest on her elbows, her hips arching upwards of their own accord as his tongue worked, warm and wet against her – flicking her clit in a maddeningly teasing rhythm before receding – the third time he did that she grabbed his hair none-too-gently and he responded by nipping the inside of her thigh before working two fingers into her and fucking her with them.

He was utterly, wonderfully, horribly _good at this_. She could feel her muscles starting to clench around his fingers as his tongue swirled around her clit and her fingers twined themselves in his hair and stroked his head mindlessly and his fingers worked in and out just slightly too slow for what she wanted and her hips rose up towards him to reach just that bit further, to move just that bit _faster_ and she heard him chuckle against her skin and it seemed to vibrate throughout her whole body and she came, with a violent shudder, arching up off the bed.

For a moment she felt weightless and foggy, until she registered the feeling of his lips pressing gentle kisses to the curve of her hip, the soft skin of her stomach, the undersides of her breasts. She reached out and cupped his chin in one hand, bringing him up for a kiss. She could taste herself – slightly musky – on his tongue, and he groaned, pressing the line of his body up against her until she could feel his penis pressing against her stomach. She hooked a leg around the back of his without even thinking.

He broke the kiss, pressing his lips to the skin just behind her ear and to her neck, and she satisfied herself by running her fingers along every inch of his sweat-slicked skin that she could reach.

He rocked back onto his knees and repositioned himself before coming forwards again, until she could feel the head of his penis against her entrance as he looked down at her, his weight on his arms. He seemed to be waiting for something, so she locked her legs around his back, tilting her hips up and letting him in.

He sank in slowly, dropping his head until his forehead rested on her shoulder, and she could feel his warm breath against her breast and the warmth of his penis inside her body and she felt the sudden mad desire to pull him as close to her as she could until they melded into one being. And then he was still, barely breathing, and she waited, her fingers resting lightly on the back of his head and her legs hooked behind his back.

Then, he placed a quick kiss to her collarbone, and grabbed her hips with one hand, pulling her towards him and he began to move. It took them a few moments to find a rhythm. And then suddenly, driven by an impulse she knew almost immediately she'd come to regret, she reached up and kissed him – letting every thing she felt, her confusion, frustration, pleasure, want, and unexpected happiness at just being with him – her need to crawl under his skin to get closer, to hold on to this moment and never let it slip away – pour into that kiss.

His hips snapped sharply three times and he came with a guttural, wordless sound. For a moment they lay still, silent and intertwined. And then, so suddenly that it almost hurt, he pulled out, stood and gathered his clothing without a word.

She crawled under the covers, holding them up to her chest as he redressed and turned to look at her one last time, looking confused as if she’d done something he’d not expected. Then, as abruptly as he’d come, he walked into the shadows and vanished.

She woke with a start, and she sat up and clutched her pillow to her chest, leaning against the headboard and desperately trying not to cry. For something that had meant to have no consequences, she felt suddenly like there had been far too many for her to deal with.

...

It had been well over a century since he’d lain with anyone, and considerably more than that since he’d lain with a mortal. Darcy had been... unexpected. He found it increasingly hard to rationalise why he was continuing to pay her attentions – she was of no practical use to him. Yet the whole thing remained shrouded in mystery. He was unconvinced she was capable of the duplicity required to believably state that she had not called him to her – she had. He felt it, even now, the call of her soul, reaching out through the vastness of space. And yet, she seemed entirely unaware.

It was something he had never experienced before – he had answered prayers, and the mortals whose requests he’d filled had come and gone like leaves in the wind. But she – even now he felt the aftershocks of her touch, felt the invisible marks left by her fingernails like they were indelibly burned into his skin, felt the warmth of her mouth on his, the intensity of her kiss...

There was no question that she had called out to him. But why, then, was she still doing so? And how did she not know? They were questions that could only be answered in Asgard – and Asgard was cut off to him now. It was his home no longer, and there would be no going back.

And yet, he had felt inexplicably close to the girl. He had sought her out only with the desire of release, but now he felt himself torn in equal parts between regret that he had visited her at all and desire to do so again. She had kissed him, and he had felt, for one flickering moment, the brushing of her mind against his. It was a connection she should not have been able to make.

He watched her, keeping tabs on her as she followed around after Thor’s latest fancy, seeming to do a great deal of work that involved pointlessly transferring numbers recorded in a notebook to a computer. It was a tableau of almost oppressively mundane Midgardian life. It was almost inconceivable to think that this _girl_ , who looked so completely and utterly unremarkable, dressed in a depressingly drab, grey and lumpy garment, and typing with her tongue peeking out at the corner as she concentrated could be in any way more than what she appeared. And yet she must be, because no mortal could have reached out and touched his mind like that, not unaided. So, the question remained: if she was not what she appeared, what was she? And if she was not acting unaided, then who was aiding her?

Carefully, he reached out and brushed her mind, seeking entrance into her thoughts. Almost immediately she sat up straight, dropping her pencil and looking around the room.

So she was aware, then. And yet – if there was some secret to find in her mind, it was buried deep. He withdrew his thoughts from hers for the moment. This was a much more complicated problem than he had anticipated.

It troubled him. Though he could think of no shortage of individuals who would be overjoyed to see him come to harm, he could think of few capable of altering the girl’s mind to the extent that she had called to him so, and to have given her such remarkable power without leaving discernable traces in her mind. And why _her_? Was it her connection with Thor’s woman?

To look at her she was not unusually attractive or unattractive – especially given her utter lack of any semblance of sartorial elegance. And yet – he looked at her now, and, unbidden, his heart raced at the rush of sensation. He ached to reach out and touch her, to brush his lips across the soft hair at her temple, to tangle his fingers in the hair at the nape of her neck, to run his tongue down the valley between her breasts, between her legs...

He physically shook his head to clear it, both astounded and appalled that he was nearly half-hard from just thinking about it. No, this was by no means ordinary.

It had to stop. 

...

He had known that it would only be so long before he was discovered. He was pulled, abruptly, out of his own body and into the realm of the void. And the Other was waiting for him.

There wasn’t much in the void – but there was even less now. The Midgardian weapon, however crude, had certainly done considerable damage. The Chitauri forces still lay scattered, burnt out husks of warships were covered in soldiers, who crawled over its surface like ants, making repairs.

“You did not thing you could avoid us forever, _Asgardian_ ,” said the Other, his words a low, dangerous hiss.

“I had not thought I would avoid you,” Loki replied flatly, “I had merely hoped to outrun my competition.”

“Earth?” the Other asked, with a laugh. “All in good time. But now, you will give to us what is owed.”

“I have every intention of doing so,” Loki replied. “I have made preparations to lay waste to the Earth – when your forces are mobilised, the Earth will be ready, and defenceless.”  
“False-tongue,” he hissed. “Liesmith.” He reached out and clamped a hand hard down on Loki’s face, holding his skull in a vice-like grip and covering his mouth with one vile-smelling palm. “We have heard such promises before. The Chitauri, and the one for whom I speak, have little patience for oath-breakers and liars.”  
“You would do well not to push me,” said Loki, as dangerously as he could manage through the hand covering his mouth. He glared furiously.

The Other laughed, giving him a hard shove and then grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling him back, like a dog that had reached the end of its leash. He felt the skin of his scalp tear, and he bit down hard to stifle a cry. “Your false bravado will do you little good, Laufeyson.” Loki went very still, and the Other laughed again – a horrible, grating sound, like concrete rubbing together. “Oh, yes. News of Odin’s great deception has reached the ears of my Master,” he said. “He was most _interested_.”

The Other raised his leg up and brought it down on Loki’s knee in one quick motion, and he heard the bone crack as he crumpled. We was dragged by the hair, stumbling to keep the weight off his bad leg as Chitauri emerged like silent ghosts from the shadows to clap him in chains. “Do not think you can fool us into believing there is anyone coming for you,” the Other hissed. “We know that Asgard has forsaken its least-loved, second son.”

Between the nine realms, there were caverns in the abyss that still echoed with the screams of his last visit. They rang in his ears as he was dragged back down once more.

...

Darcy dropped her bag to the floor and unzipped her boots, hopping slightly as she got the left one off, before tossing them aside too. One bounced off the wall. She stripped off her pants and her blouse, and threw on a t-shirt before heading to the kitchen for a glass of water. It was beastly hot – horrible and sticky.

Loki had been watching her all day. That probably should have made her more nervous about hanging around in her underwear, but, it wasn’t like it was anything he hadn’t seen before, and she was genuinely worried that wearing clothing might lead to heatstroke.

She assume it was Loki, at least. The prickly, uncomfortable feeling of being watched, like something was there in the corner of her eye that she could never quite catch sight of, has been bothering her all day long. And she’d felt that horrible sensation of cold fingers brushing against the confines of her mind again in the lab today.  
She leant forward on the counter, resting on her elbows and holding the cool glass up to her forehead. This had to stop.

It was ridiculous. She should never have gone along with the stupid _dream_ business. It had been a dream – her sheets were clean when she’d woken, but it had been the most unusual, most vivid dream she’d ever experienced. And, for fuck’s sake, it had been her dream, and he’d left like a complete asshole right at the end. And to think for a moment she’d thought –

But dreams were not reality, she reminded herself, even in this case. And in reality, Loki was dangerous, unpredictable, and thoroughly off-limits. In reality there were consequences, greater ones than the hollow empty feeling of rejection.

But she couldn’t make sense of it. He kept coming to her, insisting she had called him, and he had kissed her, and then he’d left, like she’d done something shameful. Which, well, if one considered lucid-dream-sleeping with the enemy shameful, she supposed she had.

She resisted the urge to turn on the shower and try and drown herself in it. As much as it was satisfying, no amount of melodrama had ever actually solved anything.  
Then, suddenly, she heard an anguished scream echo throughout the room – so loud that she dropped her glass and clasped her hands over her ears reflexively. It seemed an inhuman sound, like it had been torn brutally out of someone. And it sounded alarmingly like Loki.

She was shaking, her skin crawling as every nerve in her body seemed to send conflicting signals. And she was suddenly, horrible cold.

She was no longer in her apartment. It was dark, so dark she literally could not see her hand in front of her face, which she had, up until then, thought was never a literal expression. And she was most definitely not alone.

She could hear ragged breathing, uneven hitching gasps and wheezed exhales with a faint gurgling noise. Her heart pounding in her throat, she very slowly stretched her hand out along the floor, searching for some kind of landmark to orient herself in the darkness. Time seemed to crawl to a standstill as her fingers inched through what felt like dirt, and it was damp and cold, until they touched what was unmistakably skin.

It jerked away from her with a cry, and then a set of deep, painful-sounding coughs and great gulping gasps as whoever it was tried to draw breath. She heard the unmistakable, and disgusting sound of somebody spitting.

“Damn,” said a voice, slurred slightly.

She was hit with a sudden, overwhelming feeling of relief. “Loki?”

She felt him move sharply, though she couldn’t see it, and he let out a hiss of pain. “You,” he said. “What in the nine realms...?”

“Are you hurt?” she asked softly.

He let out a bark of laughter, which turned abruptly into a cough. “No, you foolish girl. I always keep my ribs broken. I find it improves my breathing.”

She let the sarcasm slide. She was becoming increasingly worried by the sound of his breathing – the wheezing was getting more pronounced and his breaths shallower. She didn’t know much about broken ribs, but she would’ve been willing to bet anything that this one had punctured a lung. As much as she might not like him, she was almost certain she liked him better than anything else she might come across here, and he was quite possibly her only way home.

“What do you need me to do?” she asked, sounding much braver than she actually felt.

He lay still and silent, save for his laboured breathing, for a moment, before replying. “My hands and feet have been bound,” he said. “You will need to release them.”

Moving slowly, she reached out until her hand touched skin. It felt worrying cold under her hand, and she swallowed, running her fingers upwards towards where she assumed his head was. She reached a junction that felt like a shoulder, and she travelled up his arm, which was bound above his head, until she felt ropes under her hands. Both his wrists were bound together, and affixed tightly to what felt like carved stone.

“I don’t have anything to cut it,” she said.

“You will need to break the wrist,” he said. “And then I can slide the hand free.”

She felt bile rise almost instantly in her throat and she shuddered. “I can’t,” she said.

“You can,” he replied forcefully, “and you will, if you hope to return to your precious Midgard again.”

She swallowed down hard on the urge to vomit. “How do I do it?” she asked quietly.

“You will need to come down hard on the wrist with your foot,” he replied tightly. “You cannot manage it using the strength of your arms alone.”

Shakily, she stood, and gently found his wrists with her foot, resting it on top of them.

“You will need to step down as hard as you can,” he said. “I would not like to have to endure several attempts.”

She nodded, but then realised he wasn’t able to see. “I understand,” she said. 

“On three,” he said, tightly. “One, two –“

She stepped down as hard as she could, and she felt his wrist give way with a sickening crack under her foot. She stumbled back, spinning around and falling to her knees, retching. She could feel hot tears running down her cheeks, as her stomach emptied itself of all its contents.

When she was finished, she wiped her mouth with a shaky hand. She could hear him moving behind her, grunting in pain. Slowly, her limbs weak and her head spinning, she turned back to face him.

“Can I...?” she said tentatively.

“That,” he said furiously, “was not _three_.” 

“Did it work?” she asked.

He coughed furiously, and spat again. When he spoke his voice seemed to come from a place closer to her level. “Yes,” he replied, shortly. “I will manage my legs on my own. I have had more than enough of your _tender_ mercies for one day.”

She reached out and grabbed on to the closest bit of him that she could, holding on. He stilled. “What, precisely, are you doing?” he asked.

“Don’t you _dare_ leave me,” she said, sounding more panicked than she would have liked to. “What the hell is this place? What happened to you? How did I get here?” She felt panic bubbling up inside of her, threatening to spill over, and tears welled up in her eyes again, uncontrollably.

“You are in the void between the worlds,” he said tonelessly, his arms moving again as he did something to remove the bindings on his feet. She saw a bright flash of green light, and he was illuminated for a quick moment – his skin pale, sickly and mottled with bruises.

“If you can do magic how come I needed to break your wrist?” she demanded.

“Magic requires the use of my hands,” he said. “As for how you have come to be here... it seems you are capable of a great many things you should not be.”

He wiggled his legs, and then made to stand up. Automatically she pressed herself to his side, looping the arm she was holding over her shoulder to help support his weight. He made a huff that could have been either annoyance or amusement.

“Right,” she said, with faux cheerfulness. “How do we get out of here?”

“The same way we came in,” he muttered, leaning wearily against her. He was surprisingly heavy for someone who looked rather slight. She shifted his weight against her, leaning up into his side, and he grunted in pain.

“Sorry,” she muttered. “You’re heavy.”

He ignored her, murmuring under his breath in a sotto voice. “Who sent you?” he asked, sharply.

“Sent me? Nobody sent me. I was minding my own business one minute, and I’m here the next. I thought you brought me.”

“No,” he replied.

“What the _fuck_ ,” said Darcy. “And what are you doing here? And who did you piss off to get the luxury treatment?”

“There is a being here with tremendous power. He is an un-maker of galaxies, and a destroyer of worlds,” he replied, his voice hushed in the darkness. “He believes that I have betrayed him.”

“Have you?” she asked, with surprising bluntness.

“I have failed to follow through on some of the finer points of our agreement,” he said drily. “It is, as you say, a ‘work in progress’.”

“And so he _tortured_ you?” she asked.

He laughed at that, though it rang empty in the space around them. “No,” he replied. “He intended to torture me. Your arrival has forestalled that.”

“This is what you look like before the torture?” she asked, aghast. “We are getting right the fuck out of here this second, Loki, I mean it. You get your mojo on because I do not want to be here when this guy turns up.”

“No,” he said, “I imagine you do not.”

He straightened up as best he could, and the arm around her shoulders held her tight against him. “You will need to grab hold,” he said. “I am not certain that this will work, and you would not enjoy being lost along the way.”

She didn’t need to be told twice. She grabbed his arm and held on so tight her nails probably left marks. It probably hurt him, but she considered not being lost somewhere in the space-time continuum more important.

“Do not let go,” he warned her, unnecessarily. Her fingers dug in tighter.

And then, she was suddenly everywhere and nowhere at once – inside-out and outside-in as they seemed to travel and stay put all at the same time before suddenly slamming into the floor of her apartment, in a tangled heap.

She was home.

...

She had a problem, and all 6’ of him were sprawled in an ungainly fashion out on her floor in the most obnoxiously dramatic way possible. He also seemed to be out cold, which worried her probably more than it should’ve. She poked him tentatively, and then gave his shoulder a shake.

Definitely not good.

He looked absolutely horrendous in the light of day. There was a clear pattern of bruising on his face that looked alarmingly like the shape of a hand, and his wrist was already swelling and seemed to be lying at an unnatural angle. Even looking at it made her feel ill again; despite the fact that it had been necessary, seeing how much damage had been done was a rather unpleasant wakeup call.

He needed medical attention. Though, as much as she’d already lugged one Norse god to an ER in her life, she wasn’t keen on repeating the experience. Loki had obviously been beaten up, and, given he was in her apartment she could hardly claim not to know him when the ambulance arrived. Still, that wrist needed to be set, badly.

The obvious option wasn’t one she was particularly keen on, given she’d have to explain what Loki was doing in her house in the first place, but it seemed, really, like the only recourse. Except trying to McGyver up a splint and sling for him – which would probably do more harm than good. Still, it did little to change the fact that her hands were shaking as she picked up her phone and called Jane.

“Hey,” Jane answered on the third ring, sounding flustered. “What’s up?” 

“I need your help,” Darcy said. “And it’s a doozy.”

She could actually feel Jane frown over the phone. “What’s going on?” 

“Well, there’s a definitely possibility that Loki is passed out on my floor.”

“ _What_?” Darcy flinched, holding the phone away from her ear. She looked at Loki’s prone form on the ground, watching to see if he was breathing. Passed out Loki was one thing, dead Loki was another.

“Look, I can’t really explain now,” said Darcy, “but he’s injured and unconscious and I really, really don’t know what to do, so if you could get Thor here before he wakes up and murders me, that would be great.”

“I – yes – _god_ , Darcy. We’re coming as fast as we can. Just hold on.” 

“To what?” Darcy muttered as she hung up.

She looked around the apartment, then back down at Loki. Keeping his broken wrist as steady as possible, she rolled him onto his side. His clothes were in tatters – his shirt all but gone, and a long tear ran up the inside of his trousers. There was a dark, mottled bruise on the left side of his chest and abdomen, and she winced just looking at it.

“Okay, dude,” she said aloud, “here we go.” As gently as she could she placed him an approximation of the recovery position, based on half-remembered first aid lessons. She grabbed a pillow off the bed and used it to prop up his injured wrist. She was debating whether or not she should try putting some ice on it when her door nearly flew off its hinges as it swung open to slam against the wall.

Thor took one look around, taking in Loki’s prone form, before lowering Mjolnir to his side. “You are unhurt?” he asked.

Darcy nodded, feeling overwhelmed, like all the pent-up panic she’d been holding on to since this whole thing began had suddenly bubbled to the surface. Jane, who had run in just behind Thor crossed the room in two quick steps and grabbed Darcy’s hand in her own.

Thor was looking quietly down at his brother.

“Darcy,” Jane said softly. “What happened? Did he – ?”

“I have no idea. One minute I was here in my apartment, the next minute I was somewhere else. It was _horrible_ Jane – empty and dark and it gave me the absolute creeps. Apparently he was being held there by someone – Loki called him a ‘destroyer of worlds’. They were working together, but apparently that’s not working out very well.” She gave a slightly strangled-sounding laugh.

Thor looked grave. “That is troubling news. I knew my brother had allies, but if they have turned on him...” He glanced over at Darcy. “He did not attack you?”

“No,” she said. “No, I rescued him. Sort of. Mostly I panicked, but there was some definite rescuing involved.”

Thor’s frown became more pronounced.

“But, Darcy,” Jane said. “You’re sure he didn’t...? I mean, that is, you’re – you’re not wearing any pants.”

_Oh._

She burst out laughing. It was that or crying, really, and, frankly, performing heroic rescues in one’s underwear was a bit funny, really. “No,” she said, shaking her head and still giggle. “It’s not... nothing like that, really. I, uh, I took them off when I got home. Before the whole poof-to- another-dimension thing.” Jane was staring at her, slightly slack-jawed. “I’ll just put some pants on then, shall I?”

“These are unusual circumstances,” said Thor. “I can see no explanation as to why Loki should have brought you to him. I fail to see what he was trying to accomplish, but that is often the way with many things my brother does.”

“You think he brought me there?” Darcy asked.

Thor’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “This is not the first time you have seen my brother, is it?”

“That’s ridiculous,” Jane said, though she looked dubious almost as soon as she said it. Darcy felt herself blush, her face hot as she looked away, staring studiously at a blank spot on the wall and trying very, _very_ hard not to think about what had happened the last time she’d seen Loki. It didn’t work.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” she said, shakily. “I’ve been dreaming about him, and I don’t think they’re just dreams.” She blushed even harder at that, which was something she hadn’t thought possible. “I mean... they’re not _normal_ dreams. And he kept saying I called him, but I swear I didn’t.” Her voice was starting to take on a slightly panicked tinge.

Thor and Jane stared at her silently for a long moment, Jane looking so flabbergasted that in better circumstances Darcy would’ve thought it funny, and Thor looking alarmingly grave.

“I must bring my brother to Asgard,” said Thor, at last. “He requires medical care, and it is beyond time that he came home. Our father will wish to see him.”

“What about Darcy?” Jane asked. “And me?”

Thor stepped towards Jane, and cupped the back of her head with one hand, placing a gentle kiss on her brow. “I regret that I must leave you again so soon, but I must do this. I promise that I will return when I can.”

“And Darcy?” Jane prompted, looking resolved.

“I will investigate these dreams. Events would suggest they are indeed more than they appear.”

Still blushing furiously, Darcy nodded. Jane reached up and grabbed Thor’s face in her hands, pressing a long kiss to his mouth. After several more seconds than could be considered not awkward, the broke apart. “I have delayed overlong already,” Thor said. “My brother needs healing.”

With surprising gentleness for someone of his size, Thor gathered his brother’s body to him, picked up Mjolnir and strode out of the apartment. Jane stared after him for a long moment, before she turned to Darcy and said, “Answers. I want them, and I want them now.”

...

He woke up groggily, feeling unusually content. He almost drifted straight off back to sleep, until something – a combination of familiar sounds and smells – clicked in his mind, and he sat bolt upright.

Thor was sitting in a chair by his bedside. _His_ bedside. He understood why it had seemed to familiar to him, now. He was in Asgard, in what had once been his own chambers. He’d been sent to his room, like a wayward child.

His face contorted in a snarl, as he prepared to gather his magic about him and leave, as fast as possible.

“Our father has stripped you of your power,” said Thor, surprisingly intuitively. 

“ _Your_ father,” Loki snarled back. “ _My_ father is dead, by my hand.”

Thor flinched, but said nothing, sitting back in his chair and watching silently.

“ _Well_?” Loki snapped when the silence grew longer than he could stand. “Where is the great hand of Asgardian justice? Or is my punishment to be stared at sullenly by an overgrown oaf for an eternity?”

“I am not your jailer, Loki,” Thor said. “You were gravely injured; I am here because I am your _brother_.”

“Then tell me, _brother_ ,” Loki said venomously, “if you are so, very concerned, where were you when I was cast into the abyss? If my injuries cause you such _great torment_ , then why did you forsake me?”

“You tried to _kill_ me, Loki. You tried to obliterate an entire world.”

“A world you would have happily destroyed yourself, had you the brainpower to think of it!” Loki shouted. “You have _everything_. You come to me with your fake concern and your cries of ‘ _brother_ ’ – if you had loved me, _brother_ , you would not have thrown me aside so easily. You would not call my slights ‘imagined’. Your ego extends so far cannot see past your own arrogance – you give me a mere pittance and expect it to be treated as gold. You have been pandered to, Thor, and I will do it no longer.”

“You speak as though I have wronged you,” said Thor, with uncharacteristic slowness, as if he were keeping his temper in check. “I have _defended_ you, brother. There must be justice for your crimes, but I will see that it is fair.”

In blind rage, Loki reached out and grasped hold of the first thing he could – a book, which had been laying on the table beside the bed – and threw it hard enough that a loud crack reverberated through the room as it connected with Thor’s skull. Thor stood, looking for a moment as if he was prepared to strike out, but his arm hung in the air between them, fist clenched, and his face contorted in fury. Loki threw back the sheets, getting to his feet in a single, quick movement and grabbing a second book.

With a roar of half-swallowed rage, Thor turned abruptly and left the room, slamming the door behind him. A lock had been installed on the outside, and it clicked shut almost obscenely loudly in the now otherwise silent room.

For the first time since he’d left Asgard, Loki wept. 

...

She woke up in a bed that was definitely not hers. This was immediately apparent for three reasons. First, it appeared to be made of gold, which was a little out of her price range. Second, it was in a room larger than her whole apartment. And third, Loki was in it – although given recent events, that wasn’t the best proof out of the three.

He was lying with his back to her, apparently asleep.

As slowly and as carefully as she could, she pulled back the covers and swung her feet over the side of the bed, trying not to shift the mattress too much.

“So it is you,” Loki said, his voice gravelly as he rolled over towards her. “You are developing a habit of appearing in places you should not be, mortal.”

“If I am then it’s definitely _your_ fault,” Darcy replied, standing up and looking around the room.

“Hmm,” said Loki, non-committaly. He sat up, the sheets bunching about his waist, but seemed disinclined to do more than that.

“Is this – Is this _Asgard_?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “Although you are not actually _present_.”

She gave him a pointed look and reached out with her finger, poking the spot right in the middle of his forehead deliberately. “I feel pretty _present_.”

He scowled. “We are in the space between dreams and wakefulness. This is a fabrication made from my memories of the room.”

“Wait, this is your _bedroom_?”

His scowl darkened. “It is of no consequence.”

“You’re dreaming of your bedroom? And me? And me in your bedroom?” She gave him a long look, and he glared balefully back at her. “It’s ... nice,” she said. “Very tidy. And, uh, shiny.”

He closed his eyes, and seemed to concentrate deeply. Around them the walls shimmered and seemed to shift, colours and shapes moving almost psychedelically, until she had to close her eyes to keep from getting dizzy. She felt Loki reach out and grasp her upper arm.

When she opened her eyes, they were standing on a bridge, which seemed to shimmer under their feet. But it was the sky that caught her attention and held it – the stars shone brighter than she’d ever seen them, and, in the distance, she saw the realm of Asgard, with golden towers, stark against the dark sky. Almost blindly, she reached out and grabbed his hand in her own and squeezed.

“It’s beautiful,” she said, awestruck.

He was watching her carefully, an inscrutable expression on his face. “Appearances can be deceiving,” he said.

She frowned, but before she could say anything more his grip tightened on her arm and he pulled her forwards into a bruising kiss. It was more desperate than pleasant, like he wanted something from her she wasn’t sure was in her to give. She held on, kissing back as well as she could.

He broke the kiss, pulling back to grasp her shirt in his hand and pull it over her head. He dropped it to the ground and reached around behind her to undo the clasp on her bra, mouthing at the place where her clavicle met her shoulder. She reached out and slipped her fingers under his tunic to touch the cool skin at his waist. She felt the clasp give, and he stepped back from her, pulling her bra off and tossing it aside.

And the he just _looked_. She saw a muscle in his jaw flex as he looked her up and down, his eyes lingering on the swell of her breasts, the line of her neck. She felt simultaneously exposed and horribly, horribly turned on by it.

“What have you done to me?” he murmured.

She crossed her arms over her chest, and he blinked. He reached out and firmly pulled them apart again, holding them by her sides.

“Tell me,” he said, bending down to kiss her neck. “Who sent you? How have you come by such power?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, breathlessly.

He bit down hard into her neck – hard enough that he broke the skin a little, and she cried out, buckling in surprise and pain into his chest.

“You should not be here,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “No mortal should have been able to reach me in the void, to reach me here, in Odin’s kingdom.”

“I haven’t _done_ anything,” she replied, almost pleadingly, panic starting to set in. She tried to pull away from him, but he held her firmly in his grip. “Please,” she said, “I don’t know what’s going on. I haven’t done anything.”

“ _Please_ ,” he mimicked. “Yes, _beg_ , little supplicant. _Beg_ like you did that first night, when your thoughts called out to me. When you gave yourself to me. I am your _god_. Beg.”

She stepped down as hard as she could onto his foot, and he spun her around, pressing her back to his chest and trapping her crossed arms to her chest with his own.

“Do you think you can _best_ me?” he hissed, his warm breath against her face sent shivers of terror through her, and she struggled fruitlessly in his grasp. “What were you promised for your involvement in this? That when your world burned, you would be given the pick of the spoils? Was that the bargain you made?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Please, let me go.”

“No,” he said, with a harsh bark of laughter. “No, that doesn’t suit you at all. You, the mere assistant to the brilliant scientist. The friend to the lover of Thor. Oh, they chose you well – for we both, I think, know a little of what it is like to live in a shadow. Were you promised greatness, then, my supplicant? That you would be given purpose? That you would step in and take Jane’s place from right beneath her unworthy feet?” He laughed again, and Darcy went still against him.

“There will be no spoils,” he said.

“I’m not you,” she said, quietly, and his grip on her tightened painfully. Bravely, or perhaps stupidly, she carried on. “I don’t want to replace Jane. I don’t mind working with Jane. And I most certainly don’t want spoils from anything, not if they come at anyone’s expense. I’m not like you. I’m not doing anything to you. I have _no idea_ how I got here, and I’d really just like to make it home in one piece.”

He seemed to either be listening, or be too furious to move. His grip still dug into her arms painfully – hard enough that she was certain there’d be bruising, if one could bruise from a dream.

“Look, Thor loves you –“

He made a noise that could only be described as a roar of fury, and threw her to the floor. She spun around, curling up instinctively and scuttling backwards. He towered over her, positively apoplectic with rage.

“You know _nothing_ of Thor,” he said. “You know _nothing_.” She scrambled to her feet, backing away looking wide eyed. “How dare you presume –“

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry.”

He snarled, and stalked towards her, looking murderous. As he walked, the ground seemed to tear itself apart behind him, the world falling to pieces as she blinding turned and ran. She felt his fingers, ghostlike, grab her arm and then seem to pass through it, as the ground fell out beneath her feet. She heard his bellow of rage echo around her as she tumbled.

In her apartment, in New York, she woke up screaming.

...

He woke up furious, thrashing about in his bed, his sheets kicked to the floor. There was a hand on his shoulder, and a voice murmuring anxiously, softly. Reflexively, he struck out and connected hard. They fell to the floor.

Still panting from the dream, and disoriented, he looked around. His mother was gathering her skirts, and picking herself up off the floor, a stark red mark plainly visible on her cheek. For a moment he felt a flicker of remorse, and an almost compulsive desire to go to her, but he quelled it. Frigga was his mother in name only.

She sat, regally, watching him carefully. “I have missed you, my son,” she said. 

He sneered. “You have had _your_ son with you.”

“The name Odinson was given to you, Loki,” she said softly. “It is yours to take up again, when you wish to. But even when you do not use it, you are still my son.”

“I am an outcast, a monster and a traitor,” he said, flatly. “You would do better to cede any claim to me.”

“No,” she said. “There are few worse things that I could do than abandon my child.” 

“Then you are a fool,” he spat.

“Perhaps.” She adjusted the skirt of her dress, and sat back, projecting an air of quiet confidence that Loki found frustratingly effective. It was difficult to remain furious at someone who so effortlessly projected calm. “What was it you dreamed of?” she asked.

“Nothing of importance,” he said stiffly.

She sat very quiet and very still, until his skin began to crawl from the long, awkward lull in the conversation. He stared resolutely at the far wall, and focused on keeping his expression neutral.

She sighed. “You always were so stubborn, Loki. Your father didn’t see it because Thor’s stubbornness was always so ostentatious, but I did.”

He scowled at the comparison to Thor.

“It was not a good dream,” she stated. “What was it?”

“Why do you persist –?“ He paused, as something in her posture caught his attention – something hesitant, almost guilty. He scowled furiously. “You,” he said. “It was _you_.”

“My son –“

“No,” he snapped. “What have you done?”

She stared at him levelly.

“ _Mother_ ,” he ground out. “What have you _done_?” 

“Do not take that tone with me,” she said, sharply. 

“I will take whatever tone –“

“Silence,” she said, and the word seemed to cut through the room like a knife. “I have done only what was necessary.”

“What was _necessary_?”

“Yes, Loki,” she said. “Because you are my son, and because I care for you.”

“And so you foist this mortal upon me? Let her into my mind? Give to her powers and magic that she should not have, that she _cannot_ understand?” He was positively livid, his voice almost vibrating with the force of his fury.

“I have not foisted anyone upon you,” Frigga replied. “The connexion was made by you, Loki. I have merely enabled it to grow.”

“For what purpose, precisely? You cannot possibly think that this _girl_ , this _mortal_ is of any use to you, to _anyone_...”

“You are here, are you not?” she replied, pointedly. “My ends have been achieved.”

He glowered at her, but said nothing.

“My son,” Frigga said, gently. “You misunderstand me. I wish only for your happiness. You sought the girl out, she called to you – I had thought such a connection would be welcome.”

“It is not,” he said, stiffly.

“Are you certain of that?” she asked him.

“You forget that I am not Thor,” he said, acidly. “I will not fall for your protestations of altruism. You have said it clear enough – you have got what you desire – my return. I have no doubt that Darcy’s association with Thor was the reason for your selection. It was well-played.”

“A person can achieve many aims with a single act,” Frigga said.

“And now that I have been returned, what would you have of me? I am surprised you have waited this long to pass judgement. Asgard has no reputation for clemency.”

“This is your punishment, Loki.”

“What? Being _talked_ to? The All-Father would not allow my crimes to go unpunished, or to consider this... this... whatever this is, suitable punishment,” he said, incredulously.

Frigga smiled. “I am not wholly without influence in this court,” she said. “As for your crimes – Thor has declared Midgard under his protection, so its defence and your punishment for your deeds there fall to him. You have been removed from the line of succession, but Thor is willing to forgive what had trespassed when you held the throne, and that is sufficient.”

“So it is all to be swept under the rug?”

“No,” she said. “The All-Father has taken from you your power until such time as you have earned Thor’s forgiveness.”

“And yours, I assume,” he said, bitterly. “It is clever – tremendously so, I commend you. You will not grant me even the decency of a public punishment. Instead I am to be kept locked away quietly, impotent and under the thumb of Thor, while you presume to know what I desire and need.”

“I am your mother, Loki, I always presume to know what you need.”

“That does not mean you are always _correct_ ,” he said.

“Permit me the opportunity to be so,” she said, standing and smoothing down the line of her dress. 

He scowled at her. “It would appear that I have no choice in the matter.”

“No,” she said sternly. “You do not.”

Faster than he could react she bent down and placed a kiss on his forehead. He jerked away, and his arm rose almost of its own accord. She smiled sadly down at him. “I have missed you, my son,” she said again. It did little to quell the fury and the emptiness in his heart.

...

She hadn’t been level with Jane about everything. But, god, how the hell did you tell someone you were having interactive sex dreams with their boyfriend’s evil brother? There was a reason they didn’t make Hallmark cards for that. So, she’d omitted the sex. Which meant omitting a lot of his bizarre yo-yo emotions.

He was off the deep end, definitely. First the creepy mind-stalking, then the treating her like a bad one-night stand, the teleporting, the void, the _torture_ , and then last night. Last night.

She’d seen something in him, when he’d stripped her and just looked – like he was just as far out to sea with this whole thing as she was, and that he was just as terrified and just as wanting.

That scared her more than anything. Which, given how much his complete and utter rage, the way he’d railed at her demanding answers she could never give, had terrified her, that was saying something. But Darcy wasn’t stupid by any means, and the more she thought about it the more it seemed to her that she had been right.

She wasn’t like Loki. All those things he’d accused her of – a desire to supplant Jane, to be seen, to be great... She’d learned more about Loki in that one conversation than she had when she’d seen him stripped utterly bare. She didn’t really know what to make of him anymore. It felt a bit ridiculous to pity him – but even still. He’d been held captive, _tortured_ by his supposed allies.

And there was _something_ there. He’d looked at her under the starlight last night and said “what have you done to me?”

She knew how he felt.

Even so, there were so many things wrong with this situation. His behaviour for one, his attempts to take over her planet for another. The fact that it was _Loki_ , for god’s sake. It was Loki, and she definitely felt something that wasn’t just pure terror and hate. Sympathy.

Because he hadn’t been wholly wrong. She had been feeling like there wasn’t much place for her here, with Jane. Jane needed a real research assistant, and though they got along well, Darcy was really unqualified to keep up with the actual content of Jane’s work. And now that Thor had come back... He hadn’t been wrong when he said she felt like she’d been pushed into the shadows.

It was no excuse to try and take over the planet. But she knew how it could hurt.

She was planning something utterly crazy. It was probably stupid, and she’d probably regret it... but this had gone on long enough. Before her resolve could waver, she lay back on her bed and shut her eyes trying to calm her panicked mind. She focused on the image of Loki in her mind’s eye, concentrating and willing herself to go to him, almost chanting his name over and over again in her mind like a mantra.

She was almost about to sit up, feeling ridiculous, when suddenly it happened. Something in her seemed to reach out and grab hold, and then there was a tugging sensation – like she was being pulled out of her own skin, she felt her bones move and her heart flutter in panic, and she was flying, spinning and for one terrifying moment she was everything and everywhere, her atoms scattered like dust throughout the universe – and then she was whole again.

Loki looked up from the book he was reading in surprise, his brows arched. He blinked, and looked her up and down appraisingly. “Well, well,” he said. “You do learn remarkably quickly. You are too clever by half, for a mortal.”

“I didn’t think that would actually work,” she said, a bit wide-eyed and breathless. “God, is that how you usually travel? That’s _awful_. I think I may have left my spleen somewhere over the Atlantic.”

His lips thinned in annoyance. “I heard your call,” he said. “What is it you want, mortal?” “You to call me by my name, for a start,” she muttered. “I want to talk to you.”

“I was under the impression that we were ‘talking’,” he said, sarcastically. “Although I have seen little to convince me to continue if this is to be the calibre of conversation.”

She scowled. “No,” she said firmly, mustering her courage. Her hands were shaking by her sides, so she clenched them as hard as she could. “No, you’re going to listen to me, because I have absolutely had enough of this crap.”

His face darkened, and he shot her a look that was clearly meant to be a warning. She ignored it.

“I was right, yesterday,” she said. “You see yourself as stuck in the shadows, that you’re searching for validation and for greatness.”

He stood suddenly, six feet of pure menace, but she carried on, raising her voice. “I don’t really care what your reasons are, but as far as I’m concerned there is no good reason to try and take over my planet. But even after all that, and I’m willing to bet I don’t even know the half of what you’ve done, Thor still loves you. He was genuinely upset to find out that you’d been harmed, even after everything, and all he’s done is bring you home.”

“You know _nothing_ about Thor—“

“That’s really not true,” she snapped. “Just because I haven’t grown up with him, or lived however many billion years you have doesn’t mean I don’t have eyes or a _brain_. Sometimes people on the outside of a situation can see things better than those directly involved – and what I see is someone who loves you but doesn’t understand you in the least. Someone who thinks a simple solution will solve a complex problem. But he loves you, and if you sit down and actually try, I guarantee you he loves you enough to try and understand.”

“How _dare_ you?” He was practically vibrating with fury, his normally pale face an angry, blotchy red.

“Because I’m right in _the fucking middle_ of it,” she said. “You seem convinced that someone or something has made me able to reach you like this – well it wasn’t me, but I’m willing to bet anything it has something to do with you. You got me involved in this, you dragged me into this ridiculous business. I don’t want anything to do with you! You tried to destroy my home.”

He looked like he had been slapped, staring for a moment, wide-eyed and dumbstruck, at her, before his expression closed off. “If you find me so repulsive, I have no doubt you are sufficiently clever to leave on your own,” he said thinly.

“ _That’s_ what you took from what I said?” she shouted incredulously. “Oh my god, what are you, one billion going on _twelve_?”

He snarled, but she cut him off. “No, shut up. Look at where you are. When I found you, your “allies” had tied you down and were _torturing_ you, Loki. And here – the people you are so determined to rally against – you look a hell of a lot more comfortable. There are people here, a lot more people than maybe you deserve, the way you’re acting, that are trying to help you. Hell, I will _help_ you. But you have to let them.”

“You?” he asked, incredulous. “You would help me? What help do you think I could need from _you_?”

“Loki, you need all the help you can get,” she said, flatly. He made a frustrated noise that sounded like a muffled curse.

She sighed, some of the pent-up anxiousness she’d been feeling easing out of her. He, too, seemed to have settled slightly, though he was still scowling furiously. He seemed to be lost in thought.

“You are correct on one point at least,” he said at last. “This connection –“ he made a sort of back- and-forth gesture with his hand in the air between them “—between us was fostered by the Queen.”

“Your mother?” Darcy said in disbelief. “Wow. God, I thought my mom was a meddler.”

He shot her a sardonic look.

“Why?” Darcy asked.

“Your connection to Thor,” Loki said, trailing his fingers absentmindedly along the top of his desk before sitting down at it.

“And by connecting you to me, she ensured that Thor would be brought in eventually. Clever,” she said, letting out a low whistle. “People underestimate your mother a lot, don’t they?”

“It is a fool who believes Odin holds the only power in this court,” he agreed.

Suddenly, Darcy was overcome with a mad fit of the giggles. Loki raised an eyebrow at her, looking equal parts disparaging and amused.

“You have to admit it’s a little bit funny,” she said, still giggling. “She linked our minds together in the godly equivalent of ‘Well, I’ll just leave you young two to get acquainted!” all in a plot to get your brother to drag you home.”

“I find the situation considerably less humorous,” Loki said flatly.

The smile slid off Darcy’s face. “No, you’re right.” She swallowed, and fidgeted nervously. “So,” she said slowly. “About the whole... sex... thing. Was that – I mean – what that, uh, part of the plan?”

He sat back, rubbing a hand over his forehead and smoothing back his hair. He stared steadfastly out the window. “It would appear not,” he said, stiffly.

“Right,” Darcy said. “Right.”

“Although the connection between us likely amplified any –“ he paused for a long moment, considering “—inclinations we may have had.”

Darcy swallowed, and sat down heavily on the end of his bed, wrapping her arms around herself.

“I’m not sure how comfortable I am with that.”

“I expect your comfort was not of much concern,” he replied. 

“It should be,” she said, firmly.

“You lack courage in your convictions,” he replied, snidely. “First you berate me for not accepting unconditionally their love and concern, and then you complain when they do things in my best interest without thought to the consequences of others.”

“I don’t think you should accept it unconditionally,” she said. “I think you should talk to them.”

“It is difficult to speak to those who always believe they know better than you,” he said. He stared at her for a long moment, like he was searching for something in her. He looked away, his jaw clenched as he stared deliberately at the wall. “I am sorry,” he said, stiffly.

She blinked and stared at him in surprise.

“For yesterday, for... everything,” he continued. “Your involvement is... regrettable.”

With her heart hammering so loudly in her chest she could hear it, she reached out and gently took his hand in her own and squeezed it. He looked at her in surprise, like she’d done something marvellous and utterly unexpected. For one, brief second, he looked almost childlike, as he looked down at their hands clasped together in a mixture of confusion and hesitant acceptance. She squeezed again – but apparently that was where the line lay. His expression closed off, and he withdrew his hand from hers, standing and clasping it in the other behind his back.

“It would be best if you left,” he said. “I have begun to research a method for severing our connection. I will inform you when it is done.”

She was surprised to find herself blinking back tears, and she almost began to argue but something in his expression held her tongue. He looked almost pleading – like he was out of his depth and trying desperately to cling to some form of solid ground. She met his eyes and held his gaze for a long moment, before she closed her eyes and let herself slip back into her own body.

...

And, strangely, life went on, though she felt a bit like something was hanging over her head everywhere she went. She didn’t hear from Loki for over a week - no dreams, no messages, no accidental teleportations. She _almost_ missed it. But everywhere she went, every moment she was still enough, her mind drifted back to him - to the look on his face when she’d left, the look of fury when he’d held her on the Asbru bridge, the look of want on his face when they’d been together.

She really, really needed to move on.

The problem was, he was always there, just a hairsbreadth away. And, as clichéd as it was, she couldn’t get him out of her head. Although, to be fair, she didn’t think anyone had meant that quite so literally before. Still, he’d made it reasonably clear that she wasn’t welcome - and if she were honest with herself, she wasn’t sure that wasn’t the best thing for them both anyway. Dating people on the violently unstable end of the mental spectrum wasn’t something she was sure she was up for.

But, god, was this sitting-in-limbo business driving her mad.

She curled up on her bed with a book, wearing the fluffiest pair of socks she owned. She kept losing her spot on the page - her thoughts always drifting back to Loki - like every inch of her soul had been magnetised, and he was north. Unbidden, the image of the last time he’d been in this bed came to mind - the feel of his hands against her skin, the way she’d ground down into him and he’d looked almost surprised at his own pleasure, the way he’d let go of himself, just for a moment, and she’d poured everything of herself into a kiss that seemed to reach out and grab hold of him...

She felt a familiar and persistent ache between her legs begin to build. With surprising self- consciousness, given it was something she’d never been shy about before, she pulled the drawstring on her sweatpants, and slipped them down over her hips and off, dropping them to the floor. She let her own fingers run slowly up the smooth skin of her legs, drifting up her inner thigh and then dancing around her hips.

She swallowed.

She crossed her arms and grabbed the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head and tossing it aside. She cupped her own breast in her hand, in echo of the gesture Loki had made when he’d first seen her bra. She ran a thumb along the top of the cup, rhythmically, up and down, and her eyes slipped closed as her head tipped back against the headboard. She could feel the hard nub of her nipple through her bra, and she traced its shape in slow languid circles with her finger.

The book slid off the bed to the floor.

She squeezed her thighs together, and slipped the straps of her bra off her shoulders almost agonizingly slowly, before reaching behind her to undo the clasp. She let it fall to the floor.

She looked down at herself, her own rapid breathing evident in the rise and fall of her chest, and she saw herself as if she were lit by the light of the stars above Asgard. She licked her lips reflexively, pinching a nipple between her thumb and forefinger as she remembered the look on his face -- anguished and _hungry_ as he’d asked “what have you _done_ to me?” God, it felt powerful.

She sank down lower into the mattress, her head falling back against the pillows, her mouth open, faintly panting, as her legs spread open, almost of their own accord. She licked her fingers before returning them to her breast, the other hand working a slow, teasing path down to her underwear. She pulled it down and off, and ran a single finger slowly up her cunt and back down again. The hand on her breast faltered as her breath hitched.

She repeated the motion, then focused on her clit, swirling around it gently with a single finger. She bit down on her lip, picking up the rhythm a bit, and she could begin to feel the blood pounding in her ears and her muscles clench in anticipation. Her toes curled so hard it almost hurt, scrabbling against the mattress. She closed her eyes, arching her back, exposing the long line of her neck, her finger rubbing a relentless tattoo against her, and her free hand reached out and grabbed the sheets in a tight fist.

Then, suddenly, she felt the unmistakable sensation of someone else’s hand covering her own.

She gasped, sitting up like a shot, her chest heaving. Loki was kneeling on her bed, between her legs, looking almost as wide-eyed as she felt, with two bright red spots of on his normally pale cheeks.

For a very long moment neither of them moved.

Then, feeling braver than perhaps she ought, Darcy swallowed, and very, very slowly began to move her finger in a leisurely circle, keeping her eyes fixed on Loki’s. His gaze snapped almost instantly to the movement of her hand, his own still resting lightly on top, unmoving. He licked his lips in what seemed to be an unconscious motion.

Then, he looked straight back at her - his gaze so penetrating that she faltered for a moment and her breath hitched - and then he grinned.

In a few, fluid, economic movements he stripped himself, his clothes landing in a heap on the floor until he was kneeling on the bed in front of her, absolutely starkers and obviously aroused. She could feel her heart hammering in her chest so hard she thought it might burst, but she kept up the slow, circular rhythm of her fingers.  
His hand reached out and her gaze snapped to it instantly. His long, pale, oh so elegant fingers wrapped themselves around his own penis, his thumb running over the head in a gentle circle to spread the precum.

Any bit of coherency that she’d had left absolutely vaporized at the sight.

Slowly, matching the rhythm of her own movements, his hands moved up and down. She swallowed, and stretched a leg out until it rested against the side of his shin, just needing to touch him. Almost as soon as her skin touched his something in her -- something she couldn’t define seemed to reach out and grab him, and he her. 

And suddenly she could feel every single nerve ending in her body alight, feel her own fingers against her clit -- faster now -- and feel his fingers too against his penis, the strange, utterly foreign sensation of foreskin sliding over the head as if it were her own.

Pleasure crashed over her like waves upon a beach, spilling into her and receding back to him until she wasn’t sure which sensations were hers and which were his through the haze of pleasure that seemed to separate her from the rest of the world, and keep her here strangely timeless and personless. She felt the unmistakable sensation of Loki in her own mind, a strange muddle of emotions that warred against her, almost vying for dominance. She felt him surround her -- pleasure, pain, want, need, confusion, desire, anger, desperation all at once until it threatened to drown her. She cried out - either in her mind or aloud, she wasn’t sure, and he seemed to envelop her, covering her in want, need, now, Darcy, Darcy, Darcy, Darcy -- her name, like a mantra in his voice echoed in her own mind.

She felt fingers pressing against the side of her face, his voice rough and low in her ear. “Look at me. Look at me.”

She opened her eyes. He was leaning over her, his hand moving almost frantically, his brows drawn together. He reached over her head, bracing himself with his free arm on the headboard, as her finger gave one, final swirl and she came, with a cry that she would have considered embarrassingly loud in any other situation. He followed almost immediately, ejaculating onto the soft skin of her stomach, his head dropping so his forehead rested awkwardly against his arm, as he panted, his eyes closed.

Then, still loose-limbed, with all the awkwardness of a newborn gazelle, she reached up and grabbed him, pulling him in for a deep kiss and wrapping her legs around his waist to just hold him tight. His fingers tangled in her hair, his tongue in her mouth as he kissed her with equal desperation. She felt it again - like she was a part of him, somehow - and she could feel herself kissing him as well as him kissing her. His desperation, his need for something - something neither of them could define - poured into her, and she was just as desperate for him, like they were falling together and scrabbling for solid ground. Her fingers pressed hard against his scalp, and she felt the pressure of them against her own, and somebody’s hand was on her hips, reaching around to grab a firm hold of her backside and pull her close, but she wasn’t sure if it was her own. She was in two places at once, pushing and pulling, and almost frantic with need.

He pulled back, and she made an embarrasing mewl of disappointment, tighting her grip around his waist with her legs. He kissed her neck, pushing her back down onto the bed and sucked hard at her skin - hard enough that she would definitely be wearing a scarf tomorrow. She felt both powerful and afraid, and she wasn’t sure which emotions were her own, and which were his. She wanted to give him everything, and to take everything all at once.

She reached up to tangle her fingers in his hair, and he grabbed her wrists in his hand. He placed her hands on the headboard, curling her fingers around the top and giving them a quick squeeze. Then, without warning, he licked one long, filthy line from her collarbone to her bellybutton. He slipped his arms between her legs so that he could wrap them around her thighs, leaving her legs hooked over his shoulders. And then, with the same strange, desperate ferocity, he licked the warm, still wet path of her cunt. Oh, god, she could taste herself on his tongue - on her tongue, god she didn’t even know anymore.

Her head hit the headboard behind her with a loud crack, which barely covered the moan she let out. His tongue flicked at her already over-sensitised clit, a heady mixture of pain and pleasure and she squirmed - towards him or away from him, she wasn’t sure. His hands kept her hips pinned to the bed firmly, and her heels dug hard into his back as he worked his tongue in dizzying circles and flicks that made her want to scream and cry and beg for him to stop and oh god keep going all  
at the same time. She clenched down on the headboard so hard she probably left fingernail imprints.

And, suddenly, she was coming again, her body shaking as he kissed her hips, her thighs, and the inside of her ankle before gently placing her legs back down on the bed. He sat back, unabashedly nude, watching her as she tried to get her breathing back under control. She felt strangely empty, but herself again - the lines between where she ended and he began no longer quite so blurred. She stared back, trying to read his expression - but he seemed to have regained control of himself, and she couldn’t get much off him.

She sat up, tucking her legs under her and leaning back against the headboard. He seemed to take that as a cue - standing and reaching for his clothes.

“No, wait,” she said, before she could think about it. He paused, half bent over, his arm hovering over his tunic and looked at her, seemingly startled.

“Stay,” she said, feeling a bit silly. She crossed her arms self-consciously over her chest. “Please,” she added.

He stood up, looking at her with a guarded expression. Then, much to her surprise, he awkardly sat himself down on the side of the bed. He sat, like an awkward, overgrown stork, and didn’t move, his back towards her. Slowly, like she was approaching some kind of wild animal, she reached out and rested her fingers gently on his shoulder. Keeping one hand there, she reached past him and pulled the sheets up, holding the end up in silent invitation.

He looked from the sheets to her and back again, and then lay down, his arms flat by his sides, staring resolutely up at the ceiling.

She dropped the sheet over him and slowly curled up beside him, resting the side of her cheek against his shoulder. He turned to look at her, but otherwise didn’t move. Seemingly satisfied, he stared back up at the ceiling.

“Do not mistake my presence for affection,” he said, stiffly, just as she was drifting off to sleep. 

“Mmmhm,” she replied, softly.

“I am merely pleased to have a means of leaving Asgard, if only for a time,” he added, unnecessarily.

Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, she snuggled up to him deliberately. He tensed, and she could practically feel the look of affronted displeasure on his face. But after a long moment he relaxed a little, and he made no effort to move her.

“Do not think this will be a regular occurance, mortal,” he said.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Loki,” she said, throwing an arm over his chest. “Just shut up and go to sleep.”

She didn’t stay awake long enough to find out if he took her advice.

...

He woke up in an unfamiliar bed, uncomfortably sticky, the sheet stuck to his chest. He scowled as he peeled it off. He felt heavy, his skin still tingling with the remnants of the previous night. It was intolerable, the hold she had over him. She’d pulled him in - he’d felt her desire like it was his own, and, thoughtlessly, like a moth to a flame he’d gone to her. And then her mind had reached out and touched his own again. He had possessed her, known every _inch_ of her, inside and out. He was appalled to realise that he wanted more - to trace every square inch of her skin with his tongue, to engrave himself upon her soul like a brand.

Darcy was sleeping still, her back towards him, curled up on her side. He was struck by the sudden desire to wake her, to press himself against the long line of her body, to bury his face in the warm skin of her neck... He stood up and backed away from the bed, uncharacteristically graceless, and gathered his clothes before he could change his mind.

She stirred slightly, rolling half onto her back, exposing her breast. The pale, early morning light caught the white skin of her inner wrist and the underside of her breast, and he froze, reminded eerily of the first time he’d seen her. Against his better judgement, he crept to the side of the bed and crouched down, leaving his clothing in a messy pile on the floor beside him. Slowly, he ran a single, lithe finger from her palm, along the inside of her wrist and up her arm, tracing the path of the light up and over her breast. Her breathing sped up under his hand.

He brushed hair back from her face, and ran his fingers along the line of her brows, the crest of her cheekbones and the full shape of her lips, as if he could imprint them in his tactile memory. Slowly, he ran them down her neck, pausing to wrap his hand around it, his thumb over her windpipe. His hand covered her neck easily. How thin a line it was - she was utterly vulnerable like this, utterly unaware of what he was doing, what he could do. It frightened him - the thought that in a single moment he could end it all, everything she was, everything she could be would be gone, save the echo of her that lived in him.

He lowered his hand until it rested over her still beating heart, and he closed his eyes, feeling the rhythm of it as it beat in tandem with his own, as if they were one single being.

Still at that same slow, gentle pace, he trailed his fingers further downwards, over the skin of her belly, then her hips, pulling the sheet down as he went. She was beautiful like this - all soft edges, loose-limbed in sleep, and still. He swallowed hard against the sudden lump in his throat, resting his fingers on the inside of her ankle. It would be simple to trail them upwards from here, along the inside of her leg. To take her in her sleep. Or, perhaps, to whisper in her ear, like he had the first time he’d seen her. To direct her dreams, to be the instrument, the orchestrator of her pleasure.

She twitched then, and curled inwards, bringing her knees halfway up to her chest, goosebumps erupting along her skin. It startled him, and he stood suddenly. He grabbed his clothes and willed himself back to Asgard before she could wake.

He found himself standing naked, half-hard, his clothes gathered in his arms, in the middle of his room. This was ridiculous. That one girl - one unconscious girl should have such an effect on him. He dropped his things on the bed and strode over to the washbasin, cleaning himself off with a damp cloth.

No, this had gone on for far too long. He dressed and sent for the queen.

...

“You wished to see me, my son?”

Loki’s hand stilled for a moment, before he finished the sentence he was writing, and turned around at his desk to face the Queen of Asgard. “Do not confuse _need_ with want. I have a request.”

She closed the door with a soft click behind her, and strode across the room, settling herself in a chair. “Make it,” she said.

“Sever the connection between myself and the mortal,” he said. “It was your magic that strengthened it, and with my powers bound, it is your magic alone that can undo it.”

Frigga looked thoughtful, regarding him passively with her hands folded in her lap. It was a posture that exuded calm, but only a fool would mistake it for one of submission. “And if I refuse?”

“To what end?” snapped Loki. “You have accomplished what you intended. I your prisoner, am I not? Release the girl.”

“You are no prisoner here, Loki,” Frigga said, gently. “Then permit me to leave.”

She was silent, her lips pursed and her expression guarded. Loki sneered. “I believe the restriction of one’s movements is the very definition of ‘prisoner’, my lady.”

“You wish me to release the girl?” Frigga interjected smoothly. “What for?”

“What could you possibly hope to achieve by keeping up this ridiculous farce?” he demanded. “Your ploy has been successful. The girl is of no more use to you.”

“Isn’t she?” Her expression was carefully neutral, and Loki bit down very hard on the temptation to scream.

“Do not,” he ground out slowly, “attempt to play the romantic with me. I know you better than that. You are not so foolish as to believe that forced proximity to some Midgardian harlot will cause me to repent all of my perceived misdeeds.”

Frigga’s lips twitched up in amusement at that, and he snarled in near-apoplectic fury. She held up a hand and said, “peace, Loki. I will do as you ask.”

He nodded stiffly, but she wasn’t finished. “If,” she added, “and only if, you go to the girl and inform her that the connection is to be severed.”

He sat back, sprawling in his chair, scowling like a petulant child. “Really,” he said, in an affected bored drawl. “Do you think this will work when all else has failed? Do you mistake me for Thor? Just because three days in the arms of a woman made him a changed man does not mean I am so easily bought.”

“There is nothing about you that is easy, Loki,” Frigga said wryly. “And you will speak to Thor.” “That was not among your conditions.”

“It is now,” she said, flatly. “If you wish the connection severed, you will speak to both Thor and the girl.” Frigga stood, and straightened her dress. “I will know when you have done so.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Loki muttered, irritatedly. Frigga ignored him, leaving the room and locking the door behind her.

He picked up the ink bottle on his desk and threw it at the wall as hard as he could. It smashed, and he watched in satisfaction as rivulets of dark ink ran across the floor.

...

She was alone and cold in the bed when she rolled over groggily and slammed her hand, somewhat haphazardly, down on the snooze button the next morning. It took her a moment, as she reached down and pulled the covers over her head and tried to pretend that she didn’t have work to get up for, to realise why waking up alone seemed odd. When it finally clicked, she groaned and threw her arms over her head and stuffed her face into her pillow in a somewhat pathetic attempt to smother herself.

Seriously. This was not a problem other people had.

She rolled out of bed, pulling the comforter with her and wrapping it around her like an oversized, puffy cape. She stumbled over something on the floor, catching herself on her kitchen counter just in time. She bent down and picked it up, turning it over in her hands. It was definitely part of his armour - a leather vambrace, or something that looked like it covered a forearm at least, with a braided pattern. She wondered, foolishly, if he’d left in on purpose, before realising what she was doing, and _who_ precisely she was thinking about.

“I hope you look stupid with just one of these on,” she said, aloud.

Nevertheless, she tucked it carefully in the bottom of her wardrobe.

She was puttering around the kitchen area, making toast and trying to turn a mixture of somewhat haphazard ingredients into something that would pass for lunch, when Loki materialised between the bed and the counter. She dropped the jar of mustard on her toe.

“ _Ow_ , fuck!” Instinctively, she grabbed her foot, hopping ridiculously up and down on the other as she gently massaged her toe.

Loki watched with an expression of vague distaste.

Of course, it was only then that she realised she wasn’t wearing any clothes and that she’d dropped the bedsheet at the same time as the mustard. She glared at him pointedly, and hobbled over the bed, grabbing an oversized t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants and pulling them on as gracefully as she could. She tried very, very hard not to feel embarrassed. After all, it wasn’t like it was anything he hadn’t seen before.

For some reason that particular line of thought really didn’t help much.

“What do you want?” she snapped, when she got sick of him lurking in her kitchen, watching her make a fool of herself.

“I am to inform you that this connection between us, such as it is, will be broken,” he said. “Today, preferably.”

She stopped at that, holding the jar of mustard she’d just picked up in one hand, and she looked at him, her heart suddenly racing. “Oh,” she said, softly.

He stared back, strangely still.

“I guess this is goodbye, then,” she said, putting the jar down on the counter.

“I -- yes,” he said, frowning.

“Right,” she said, wrapping her arms around herself. “Well, uh, goodbye. It’s been... different.”

He stared at her, like he was searching for something in her expression, but said nothing. She shuffled awkwardly from foot to foot, feeling a bit like a bug under a microscope and positively screaming inside from the level of _awkward_ she felt at the whole situation.

“Will it hurt?” she blurted out, suddenly. “When you cut the connection, or whatever, I mean.”

“No,” he said, strangely vacant.

“Good.”

“Are you... are you ok?” she asked, after a long moment. He blinked at her owlishly, and she was starting to genuinely wonder if something _was_ wrong with him.

“Yes,” he said, in that same, strange, detached voice.

“Maybe you can come visit sometime,” she said. “When you’re, you know, over the whole taking over the world thing.” She winced at how incredibly pathetic that sounded.

He frowned, and then seemed to snap out of whatever daze he’d been in, glaring at her. “We will not see each other again,” he said, sharply. “This thing between us is over.” And with that, he promptly disappeared, as suddenly as he’d arrived.

“Oookay, then,” Darcy said aloud, to her empty apartment. 

...

At about two fifteen that afternoon she felt like the bottom went out in her mind. She’d been returning to her desk, a cup of water in her hand, when she stumbled, catching herself on the back of the chair and spilling the water all over the floor.

Jane had looked up and asked if she was okay, and then, when Darcy didn’t answer, had rushed to her side and helped her into a chair.

For a long, agonizing moment, she felt horribly, unbearably empty. And then it was gone - she was herself again and Jane was crouched in front of her, repeating her name over and over again.

“I’m fine,” Darcy said. “Just a dizzy spell.”

She felt like something was _missing_. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on, but it was like there was a space inside of her that was just no longer there. She closed her eyes and thought of Loki, pictured him in her mind’s eye, calling his name out into the ether.

There was no answer. She was alone.

It was odd, she’d lived twenty three years alone in her mind before this - but it had never felt quite so lonely before.

Jane watched her all day, throwing anxious glances every time she thought Darcy wasn’t looking. She drove Darcy home that night, insisting in a blatant lie that she was “heading that way anyway.”

Darcy really appreciated it. So, when Jane walked her up to her apartment, it followed naturally that Darcy invited her in.

“I’m sorry it’s a mess,” she said, switching on the light. “I’d offer you dinner, but I really haven’t got much in the way of food.”

Jane gave her a soft, half-smile. “Let’s order in.”

“Great idea,” Darcy said, dropping her bag haphazardly on the floor. “And we can watch Gossip Girl.”

Jane leaned against the counter, crossing her arms. “Or you can tell me what’s really going on.” Darcy paused, bent over as she untied her shoelaces.

“I’m not stupid, Darcy,” Jane said. “I know something’s wrong, and I’m willing to be it’s something to do with Loki. I don’t understand why you won’t tell me.”

Slowly, Darcy peeled off her shoes and sat on the end of the bed. “It’s not a big deal,” she said.

Jane crossed the room in two quick steps and sat next to her on the bed, her eyes wide and imploring. “Darcy, you nearly fainted today. Whatever’s going on is affecting your health. Just, talk to me, please. I want to help.”

“Look, it’s ok,” she said. “Really.”

Jane gave her a look that was a mixture of exasperation and disbelief.

“Today was it - I talked to him this morning.” Jane looked a bit panicked at that, so Darcy hasted to reassure her. “It was fine, really,” she said. “He just came by to let me know that he was breaking the connection. I guess it hit me harder than I thought.”

“He dropped by to tell you he was breaking the connection?” Jane said slowly, in disbelief. “He also said he never wanted to see me again?” Darcy added.

Jane’s brow was so furrowed her eyebrows were nearly touching. “I don’t understand what’s going on at all. First you tell me he turned up in a dream, and you wind up getting teleported to some alternate dimensions, and now he’s making courtesy house calls?”

Darcy was very, very glad Jane didn’t know precisely what kind of ‘house calls’ Loki had been making. She shrugged. “He’s not that bad, really. I feel a bit sorry for him.”  
“Sorry for him?” Jane said in disbelief. “Do you remember the time he tried to kill us? To kill Thor?”

“Of course I do,” Darcy said. “God, do you think I could forget? But... we’ve been in each other’s heads, Jane. I just... he so messed up, about everything. He’s lost, and he doesn’t seem to have anyone.”

“Okay,” said Jane, taking control of the conversation. “There are so many things wrong with that statement, I’m not sure where to start. First, of course he’s messed up, he tried to kill us. Secondly, he’s got Thor - though I can’t understand it, Thor is utterly loyal to him. And third... what exactly do you mean ‘in each other’s heads’?”

“This connection we have - had - it bound our minds together,” Darcy said.

Jane frowned, looking very serious. “And you’re sure it’s gone?”

Darcy nodded. “I can’t feel it anymore,” she said. “Trust me, it’s gone.”

“Darcy,” Jane said hesitantly. “Have you ever considered the possibility that, if your minds were connected, he might have been, somehow, influencing you?”

Darcy frowned, pursing her lips together and staring down at her toes. “Trust me,” she said. “The thought had crossed my mind. But I’m not sure it’s really him I have to worry about. Apparently it was Thor’s mum that set the whole thing up.”

“What?” Jane asked, in a low, flat voice.

Darcy shrugged one shoulder. “Apparently,” she said. “And I only have Loki’s word on this - she used me as a means of getting to him. Because I was close to you - and Thor, by proxy.”

“You know,” said Jane conversationally, “the more I hear about Asgard, the more I think it’s absolutely batshit insane.”

Darcy let out a laugh at that. “I am so with you on that one.”

“Geez, Darcy,” Jane said. “I’m glad it’s over.”

“Me too,” Darcy said softly. But she couldn’t quite rid herself of the nagging feeling that she wasn’t really. The feeling that nagged at her, like there was a hole in her where Loki’s presence used to be. The part of her that was upset at the prospect of never seeing him again.

Jane was asking about pizza, so she forced herself out of her thoughts. She had no dreams that night.

...

 

“Brother?” Thor asked, unusually reserved, as he shut the door quietly behind him. “Mother said you would speak with me.”

“ _Your_ mother _requires_ I speak with you,” Loki said, flatly, staring pensively out his window. He did not turn as Thor crossed the room and pulled up a chair across from him.

“Then speak,” he said.

“I have nothing to say to you,” said Loki, in a low acid voice. “The Queen has required that I speak to you, and I have done so. You may go.”

Thor scowled. “What bargain have you made?”

Loki ignored him, staring pointedly out the window. Thor stood, grabbing Loki’s upper arm. “What bargain?” he asked again.

Loki’s face contorted in fury as he looked up at Thor. “Release me,” he snarled. “Or have you come to beat answers out of me?”

Thor released him, and Loki tumbled out of his grasp and sprawled, inelegantly in his chair, laughing. “Ever the same, _brother_ ,” he said. “You claim your time with that mortal has changed you, but you are, as ever, a brute in the garb of a prince.”

“I see your ‘ _time with a mortal_ ’ has done you no favours,” Thor spat, furiously.

Loki sat up, rigid with indignation. “Do not speak of that which you do not understand,” he hissed, angrily.

Thor held his hands up in front of him placatingly, sitting back down and watching his brother speculatively. Loki glared at him, his jaw clenched and his expression thunderous, but stayed silent.

“I apologise,” said Thor.

“What?” Loki said, lowly.

“I apologise,” Thor repeated. “That remark was uncalled for.”

Loki stared at him, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide. Had the situation been any less serious, Thor would have been tempted to laugh. As it was, he was struck with how sad it was that they had fallen so far that a simple apology should be such a shock to him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, again. “You’re right, I do not understand. But I would like you to explain it to me.”

Loki watched him, now looking more wary than surprised, as if he expected this to be some sort of trick. “It was to release the bond between us,” he said quickly, as if he meant to get it out before he could think better of it.

Thor frowned, and Loki rolled his eyes. “The bargain,” he said. “You asked what it was. Frigga bound Darcy and I together, a spell which, at present, only she could undo. The requirement was that I speak to you - and Darcy.”

Thor’s eyebrows rose at that. “Mother required you speak to _Darcy_?”

“I expect she, like you, believes I could benefit from ‘time’ with a ‘mortal’,” Loki said snidely.

“Jane made me see a great many things about myself that I would have otherwise been unable to,” Thor said, gravely.

“ _Jane_ ,” Loki sneered, “is young, and in love with the idea of _what_ you are, rather than _who_ you are. She sees much less of you than you expect. I have no doubt prolonged exposure to you will change that.”

Thor scowled, his fists clenched. “And Darcy sees more of you than you expect?” he countered, sharply.

Loki’s face seemed to contort into an almost inhuman look of fury. “Darcy is of the impression that she _knows_ what I need. She is mistaken,” he said, through gritted teeth. “As are you.”

“Loki --”

“No,” Loki snapped. “She is _wrong_. She believes your desire to help me, and the fact that you say you have my best interests at heart, places the onus on me to accept. That I am not worthy of choosing my own path. It is a simple worldview, born of a childish mind, and I will not accept it.”

“She is right,” Thor said, softly. “Please, Loki.”

“No,” Loki all but screamed at him, shaking with the intensity of his anger. “Leave me! If you love me as you claim, Thor, then leave me. At least give me that.”

Thor recoiled as if he’d been struck, staring at Loki, who seemed as angry, as unhinged and as close to tears as he had on the Bifröst that horrible night.

“GET OUT,” Loki screamed.

Without a word, Thor stood and left the room, walking, unseeing, through the halls of Asgard, Loki’s anguished words echoing over and over in his head. For the first time since he was a young boy, he simply ran and ran until he could run no further.

...

Thor came back the following monday.

He and Jane were standing close together, talking in sotto voices when Darcy walked into the lab that morning, and they both obviously, and awkwardly, stopped talking and smiled at her in unison. Neither of their smiles reached their eyes.

“Don’t stop talking on my account,” she said, louder and more forcefully than she would’ve if she’d had some coffee yet. “Hi, Thor,” she added. “Good to see you.”

“And I you, Darcy Lewis,” he replied.

She busied herself fixing her coffee - pointedly rinsing out the cup and rummaging around in drawers for sugar packets and spoons. Thor stood there, watching her, like a large brooding blond mountain in her peripheral vision.

“Something on my face?” she suggested, when she couldn’t take it anymore.

He blinked, and then craned his neck forwards slightly, squinting his eyes. “No,” he replied, sounding bemused. “Should there be?”

“It’s an expression,” Darcy said, stirring her coffee. “It’s a polite way of asking why you’re staring at me.”

She caught a glimpse of Jane ducking behind her computer monitor, pretending to go through her notes in order to look slightly less like she was eavesdropping.

“I understand that the link between yourself and my brother has been dissolved,” Thor said.

Darcy sighed, putting her mug down firmly on the counter. “Okay, listen - both of you, because I’m not keen on rehashing this more times than I have to. Yes, Loki and I had some kind of weird mind-meld thing going on. No, it wasn’t my idea. Yes, it’s gone and it probably won’t be back.”

Thor was frowning. “My brother is much changed,” he said. “He insisted on speaking to me before I left.”

“Glad to hear it,” Darcy said.

“Yes,” Thor said, slowly. “He spoke to me of you.”

She was suddenly glad that she’d put the mug down, because she felt an unmistakable rush of panic at that. Her heart seemed to stop, and then start again at twice its normal pace. She leant up against the counter, trying to look as nonchalant as she could. “Oh?” she asked.

“He explained that our mother had a hand in the events,” he said. “And for that, I am sorry.” 

“Is she?” Darcy cut in sharply, and Thor, to his credit, looked chagrined.

Nevertheless, he continued. “Loki also told me that you urged him to listen to me.” He was looking down at her, his expression intense. “For that I am in your debt.”

“Wait, what? Loki had an actual, honest to god, civil _conversation_ with you?” 

Thor winced. “It was not entirely civil.”

“That,” said Darcy, “I can believe.”

He reached out, clasping one huge hand on her shoulder and looking seriously into her eyes. “I am in your debt,” he repeated. “What you have said to Loki, what you have done -- for the first time in many months, I truly believe there is hope for my brother.”

Darcy was surprised to find herself blinking back tears as she looked up at him. Gently, she covered his hand with her own and gave it a light squeeze before letting go. She nodded, swallowing back the sudden flood of emotion, and then, grabbing her coffee she ducked away and got to work.

She could feel Thor’s gaze on her back as she left.

...

The week, and then the month came and went, but Darcy felt like she wasn’t really part of them. She went to work every day, but with Jane and Thor wrapped in each other and Jane’s equations, she usually spent the day feeling horribly like a third wheel at her own job.

And Thor was always watching her. He wasn’t the most subtle of beings, and she was getting fed up of catching him staring at her when he thought she couldn’t see. Or, perhaps, he just didn’t care about getting caught.

But worst of all, she couldn’t get rid of the biting, growing curiosity about what Thor had said. On her most optimistic days, she imagined that Loki’d had some kind of serious breakthrough, thanks to her, and that he and Thor were on the mends. It was astonishing how pleased that made her, and how much she desperately wanted it to be true. She tried very, very hard not to psychoanalyse the reasons why that might be.

On her more realistic days, she had to acknowledge that if they were on the mends, Thor was spending an awful lot of time not in Asgard. But, still, something had clearly happened - and she’d been right in the middle of it, from the sounds of it.

And if he had brought up what she’d said to him - if he was reaching out in his own, damaged way, she wanted to be part of it. She felt like she already was part of it, and she was being kept from seeing it through. She’d seen the inside of his mind - seen the turmoil, the anger and the pain. But she’d also seen the good - the rare, tender moments.

The whole thing felt unfinished.

And so, this is how she found herself knocking on Jane’s trailer door late that evening, before she could talk herself out of it.

Thor answered, his bulk completely filling the small doorway.

“Darcy!” he said. “Come in.”

“Uh, I’m not sure there’s room, big guy,” she said. “I’ve been in there, it’s not a huge trailer.”

Thor grinned. “This is true. I had intended to build a bigger one, but Jane would not allow me.”

Darcy gave a slight half-smile. “Look,” she said, shifting nervously. “I was wondering if I could talk to you.”

He stepped out of the trailer, and Jane came up to the doorway, looking curious. “Alone,” Darcy added, awkwardly.

Both Thor and Jane’s eyebrows shot up at that.

“It’ll only take a minute,” she said.

Thor and Jane had what looked like a silent conversation over her head, before Thor smiled, albeit a touch warily, at her and gestured ahead of him. “Shall we?” he said.

The walked a short ways away from the trailer, Darcy with her arms wrapped around herself, despite the warm night air. “Look,” she said, breaking the silence abruptly. “I’ll just come right out and say this. I need your help.”

“If it is within my power, it is yours,” he said, gravely.

“I want to get to Asgard.”

Thor looked astonished. “Asgard?” he echoed. “That will be no easy task.”

“Well, actually, I want to talk to Loki. But I get the impression he’s stuck there, so...” Thor frowned, looking down at her. 

“I am not certain that would be wise.”

“I’m not a very wise person,” she said. “Look, I know it sounds crazy. It probably is crazy. But, I want to help. I -- I know I haven’t known him for very long, but the connection we had was ... well, it was unavoidably personal.” She was blushing, and she felt ridiculous for it, but Thor didn’t comment. “I just want to see it through,” she finished, weakly.

He was watching her, his expression pensive. “You do not lack courage,” he said at last. “And your motives are commendable.” He straightened, and held out a hand to her. “I will do as you ask, although my father will likely not be pleased.”

Darcy swallowed nervously. “That’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

He nodded. “I will inform Jane we are leaving.”

“She’ll want to come,” Darcy said.

Thor sighed. “I know. But the time is not yet right. I have no desire to keep her from Asgard, but it is... complicated.”

Darcy smiled softly at that. “Isn’t everything?” 

...

In the end, Jane railed and roared, but Thor put his foot down. And so, Darcy found herself standing on another world, poised to knock on Loki’s bedroom door. Thor watched her carefully.

“I’d, uh, like to go in alone,” she said.

He nodded. “I will leave you, then.” He placed both hands on her shoulders and looked at her seriously. “Good luck, Darcy Lewis.”

“Uh, thanks,” she said, awkwardly. She watched him stride down the corridor, before turning back to face the door. Her heart pounding in her chest, she knocked firmly.

She didn’t hear a response, but she slowly turned the latch and opened the door quietly, slipping in and shutting it behind her.

He was sitting at his desk, his hands folded in his lap, staring vacantly out the window, seemingly oblivious to her presence. The room was in a complete state of disarray, books scattered everywhere, as if he’d thrown them from the shelves, his bedsheets in a pile in the corner, and an ink stain running down the wall.

“You really need to clean in here,” she said.

He jumped, whirling around to look at her, eyes wide.

“Hi,” she said awkwardly. “Thor brought me. That is, I asked him to. Apparently Odin’s not really thrilled about the fact that there’s a stinky mortal wandering around, but I was very insistent.”

“You -” he said, rising to his feet.

“I came to talk to you,” she continued, her voice shaking slightly with nerves.

He crossed the room in quick steps and stopped right in front of her, slightly too close for comfort. “ _You_ ,” he said again.

“Uh, yeah, me,” she said. “Hi.”

In one fluid movement he swooped down and captured her mouth with his own, pressing the long, hard line of his body against hers and pushing them both backwards until her back hit the wall. She gasped, and he took that as an opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth.

His hands seemed to be everywhere at once, slipping under her sweater, over her breasts, into her hair. One hand grabbed her thigh behind the knee and pulled it up, hooking it around his waist. She rose up on her tip-toes, wrapping her arms around his shoulders for leverage as he bent slightly, and pushed up into her so that she was firmly pinned to the wall. And suddenly - oh! - everything aligned, perfectly, and he rocked into her as she brought the other leg up to lock it with the first, wrapped around his waist. She slipped a hand into the high collar of his shirt, pulling it apart and running a thumb along his collarbone as she kissed him.

He seemed desperate, shaking as he held her, his kisses so hard their teeth clacked together at times as he pressed himself into her as if he were trying to merge them into a single being - to physically capture the sensation of being one, united mind. She held on and pulled him in as close as she could.

He pulled back from the kiss, suddenly, leaving her gasping for breath as he placed hard kisses down the line of her neck. He was murmuring into her skin. “ _You_ ,” he said, in a low voice. “Do you know what I would do for you?”

She shivered, threading her fingers into his hair as she rocked her pelvis back and forth in time with his, locking her ankles behind his back. “I would destroy everything, I would unmake worlds to keep you - I would see this realm _burn_ for you.”

She shuddered against him. “Shhhhh,” she said gently, trying to capture his mouth again in a kiss. “Shhhhh.”

“What have you done to me?” he said, brokenly. “I would kill for you. And you will be dead all too soon - you mortals live such brief lives. I cannot bear it.”

“Shhhh,” she said again, pulling at his clothing, and dropping it to the floor. 

“You cannot die,” he said against her skin. “I won’t let you. I will burn everything, burn all of it down.”

She undid his trousers, slipping her hand into them and his head dropped forward to rest on her shoulder as she stroked him. Then, he seemed to explode into a flurry of movement, pulling her sweater off and her jeans, almost ripping them when they got stuck on her shoes, before he lifted her up and pinned her against the wall, slipping into her in a single, quick motion.

She held on, gripping his shoulders hard enough that she left crescent-shaped marks from her fingernails as she kissed him as hard as she could. He slammed up into her, and she could feel the pressure building up inside her - she kissed every inch of skin she could reach. He kissed the skin at the base of her collarbone, and sucked on it hard, hard enough she was sure there would be a mark, as he slammed into her one last time. Then, suddenly, they were both falling in a heap on the floor, and he rolled them so that she lay on top, her head tucked under his chin.

They lay there panting, their breathing loud in the quiet room, for a long moment before Darcy started giggling. “That,” she said between giggles. “Was not what I had planned.”

He snorted, but he wrapped his arms around her and held firm.

“Loki,” she said, gently. “Listen to me, because this is important.” She rolled onto her stomach, slipping her leg between his and propping herself up on her elbow. “It’s pretty clear that whatever this is between us isn’t over, and that’s ok.”

She swallowed, looking down at him. He stared back, his expression guarded as he lay almost inhumanly still beneath her - barely seeming to breathe. “But, I am willing to stay with you - as close or as far as you need me to be. But,” she said, as confidently as she could, “I don’t need you to kill anyone for me. I don’t need promises of destruction. I just want you to promise you’ll try to talk to me, and to your family.”

He scowled, and he turned his face away from her. She reached out and placed a hand on his cheek, turning him back to look at her. “Just promise to try and listen, and promise to try and make them understand. I’m not saying they’re right, and I’m not saying you aren’t - at least entirely. Just _try_.”

He stared at her for a long moment, scrutinising her with his gaze. Finally, he nodded slightly. “I will try,” he said.

She grinned brightly, and kissed him hard.

“But first,” he said, “I believe I ought to show you Asgard. However, since I am confined to this room, we shall have to start with the bed...”


End file.
